


Misery

by Nicksname



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Action & Romance, Cassandra Cain is Mockingbird, F/F, F/M, Family, Final Battle, Legacies, Love, Mystery, Pregnancy, Team, Tim Drake is Cardinal, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 94,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23760028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicksname/pseuds/Nicksname
Summary: The Joker is dead and it's time for Bruce Wayne to be happy. He's engaged to the love of his life, she's got their baby on the way, and his other children have all gone on to do great things... but the Batman doesn't know if he can be happy. As villains from across his history prepare the greatest challenge he's ever come up against, our hero is faced with the ultimate question: does Bruce Wayne need his misery?
Relationships: Andrea Beaumont/Lincoln March, Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain/Harper Row, Holly Robinson/Jason Todd, Joker (DCU) & Bruce Wayne, Kate Kane/Maggie Sawyer, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel, Past Andrea Beaumont/Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake
Comments: 22
Kudos: 39





	1. Prologue

> **Santa Priscan Airspace  
>  Tuesday, May 31st, 2022, 16:17 ECT**

“There’s no hope for this world.”

“Sir?” the pilot nervously called over his shoulder. David didn’t answer him. He had made a career out of only using his words when it suited him. Well, that and murdering people.

It had been three years since David Cain had started running. He’d been taught to become a shadow, to disappear, and he’d taught a hundred others to do the same. But the Batman had shined a light on the League of Shadows and destroyed them; he and his brat son Tim Drake. A centuries-old organization and yet all it had taken was one bad egg for the whole thing to come crashing down. Bruce Wayne had taken everything from him. He’d destroyed David’s pride, his position, and his status. He’d even taken David’s heir and called her daughter for all the world to see. To think that he’d been one of Wayne’s teachers back in the day, before the fool even knew what the League of Shadows was. All it would’ve taken was the right blow to the head or the bite of cold steel in the dark, and the boy would’ve died alone in his bed, never to be seen again. He wouldn't have gone back to Gotham and put on a cape. But the past was the past.

Most of the Shadows’ elite were locked up in Arkham Asylum, which, after the Cataclysm, had been rebuilt into one of the most secure prisons on Earth. David had been amongst the very few to escape the Justice League’s simultaneous assault on every League of Shadows base in the world, an attack made possible after Tim Drake had infiltrated their ranks all the way to the inner circle. Ra’s al Ghul made a grave error in allowing that, and David had tried to warn him so. It didn’t matter. The old fool would be damned if he didn’t have a secure legacy to leave behind. Now they were all paying for it. Ra’s was in Arkham, likely dying without his Lazarus Pits -- which he’d ordered destroyed when the bases were seized -- and David had been constantly moving to keep ahead of the FBI or Interpol or whoever the hell was chasing him that particular week. That was until he’d received the message.

An elite organization of assassins doesn’t exist for six hundred years without developing a ridiculous amount of secret communication methods, but there was one means of contact known only to the top members of the League. It was a secret frequency, and you had to know the exact specifications to even discover it existed. Everyone aware of that channel was either dead or in prison, so the out-of-the-blue message had made David very curious. There was no way that Batman was aware of the frequency, but he’d vetted it anyway, just to be safe. By all accounts, it seemed legit. The message informed him that a meeting was to be held in Santa Prisca. Nothing about what, or why, or who else was going to be there. Just a time and a place. In this new reality where friends were very hard to come by, that offer was very intriguing. Once he’d made sure it wasn’t an ambush, David headed straight there.

Santa Prisca was a small, private nation notoriously owned by Bane, the terrorist ‘responsible’ for the Cataclysm of Gotham City, where the villain broke Batman’s back, left him for dead, and created an artificial 7.6 magnitude earthquake to topple the city’s fragile order and take control of it for a year. The President of the United States had to exile the whole goddamn city from the country. In truth, the event had been more the Shadows’ doing than Bane’s directly, but the Lucha Libre had certainly paid for it. When he eventually got out, the villain made his way back to his home of Santa Prisca and took it by force, overthrowing the government. Though Bane was a member of the League of Shadows, their relations had been strained after that. Still, it had allowed Bane to escape the Justice League’s assault. He still held domain over his island nation. Though it was constantly under surveillance, the governments of the world couldn’t touch him, and their satellites could only get them so far. David knew from personal experience that it was possible to hold meetings there without Batman knowing about it. But what made him so curious about the whole thing was that while Bane was a member of the Shadows, he certainly wasn’t in the Inner Circle. He may be the host for this gathering, but he hadn't sent the invitation. 

David could see the island now. There were men on the beach waiting to receive him, armed with automatic weapons. Very approachable. The chopper began to descend towards Santa Prisca. The pilot directed the helicopter towards a patch of grass, doing his best to avoid blowing the sand around. David stood up as the helicopter touched down, grabbing the handrail for support. The pilot killed the engine as Bane’s men started to make their way over to them. David opened the chopper door and stepped out. The pilot followed suit, eying the men nervously. 

“You were confused when I said that there was no hope for this world,” David said to the pilot. 

The pilot was visibly surprised to be engaged in such a conversation. “Erm… just curious, sir.”

The men were about a hundred feet away. “The League of Shadows is --or, better put, _was_ \-- an organization dedicated to saving and cleansing the world,” David proclaimed. “The past is the past, and we wanted society to move away from it. Preserve the natural world and exterminate crime and corruption. Ra’s was always obsessed with his legacy. He chose the wrong heir, and because of that, he destroyed us all. The legacy of the League of Shadows is failure.”

The men were twenty feet away now. “I still don’t understand,” the pilot murmured. David smiled wistfully. Then he pulled out his knife, and before the pilot could blink, he drew the blade across the man’s throat. David watched him collapse in the sand as the men reached him. 

Bane’s men didn’t seem overly concerned with the scene playing out before them. One of them finally spoke up. “Bane up there,” he pointed. The man’s English wasn’t great.

David smiled. “Thank you, gentlemen,” and he continued on his merry way, leaving the mess for Bane’s boys to clean up. The pilot had been a low-ranking Shadows member who’d become part of the arsenal of men David had been using to keep ahead of the feds chasing him. At this point, he could’ve connected David to several persons of interest and locations, including this mysterious meeting on Santa Prisca. It had been time to get rid of him. 

The mercenary had been directed to a stronghold up the first hill. Santa Prisca was full of jungle on its north side, but the building sat at the edge of the trees near the beach. David kept his dagger out as he walked; though Bane’s men hadn’t shown him hostility, he wasn’t sure what to expect. After all these years, he’d learned to be careful, even when he didn’t expect trouble.

David stopped short. He was ten feet from the door and the brush pressed in around him. He almost heard the hum of the steel before it even swung through the air. David dived out of the way as the blade came crashing into the ground where he’d been standing. 

“I thought I felt the gaze of an eye on the back of my neck,” David quipped as Deathstroke stepped into full view. “Slade.”

“David,” returned the one-eyed assassin as he swung his sword once more. David deflected the blow off his dagger as he pulled out his boot knife. Slade’s weapon was certainly deadlier, but the heavy sword meant he was constricted to wielding it with both his hands. It was easy to catch the blade on his daggers and push him back. 

“What brings you out here, Slade?” David said through gritted teeth. “Don’t tell me you got an invitation to a special meeting?”

Slade kneed him in the ribs and brought his sword around to David’s side, which he swiftly blocked. “It happens I did. Thought it might be an ambush. Came prepared.” David dodged as Slade drove his blade into a tree trunk. He put a knife to the mercenary’s good eye before he could take the sword out, forcing him to defend against the blow. 

“Well, old friend, it seems like we’re both here for the same reason. How about we stop this little dance of ours and get on to the main event?” David knew from previous experience that this fight could last for hours, days even. He and Slade were old rivals, and two rivals don’t both stay alive in this business unless they’re evenly matched. 

“Very well,” said Slade with an almost bored tone. He slipped the gun he’d been reaching for back into its holster and walked over to the tree, ripping his sword out with metahuman strength. “Call it a draw.”

The two men collected themselves and turned to face the wooden doors. The compound appeared old and slightly decrepit. “Should we knock?” 

Slade answered by kicking straight through the door and ripping the rest off its hinges with his hand. “No.”

A dimly-lit hall led them to a set of stairs sloping downward. Upon entering the lower level, they saw light on in a room at the end of the hall. As they walked warily towards the source of the light, it became blocked by a huge shadow. 

“Ah, señores. Welcome,” announced Bane as he emerged. One of the most dangerous men alive, both physically and mentally. He’d brought a country to its knees and gone face to face with Superman. Even if they hadn’t always been on the best terms, David had to respect him.

“I’m noticing a lack of venom in those veins,” remarked David as they neared the hulking man. Bane had been notorious for his use of the venom drug to increase his strength during the Cataclysm, a chemical that had been derived from the Lazarus Pits themselves.

“A crutch, one I no longer require,” Bane proclaimed as he clasped David’s hand in his own, then Slade’s. Even without the enhancements, Bane was still a force to be reckoned with. 6’ 8” and some 350 pounds. “You’re the last to arrive. El loco está ahí dentro,” Bane pointed to the room, where other voices could be heard chattering.

“The crazy, eh?” Slade murmured. 

“What’s this all about, Bane?” David asked.

Bane gave a toothy grin at that, several of which were obvious fakes, the originals knocked out in fights. “Come and see.”

The room David entered was small. It was lit with the same dim beams as the hall before it and there was a metal table in the center. Around the table stood seven chairs, three of which were full. The one closest to him was occupied by a man David had known under several names, but most commonly as Dr. Simon Hurt. He had worked with the League of Shadows many times. The next seat was filled by--

“Fucking Cluemaster?!” scoffed Slade as he threw his hands up. “Okay, what kind of show are we running here? Don’t tell me I got invited to the C-Listers’ annual meeting or some shit like that.”

“I assure you, Mr. Wilson,” spoke the third man softly, “the proposition that was sent to you is very serious. There is an important matter we must all discuss.” David Cain had not fought his way into the League of Shadows’ inner circle without knowing all the faces that were worth knowing. He recognized everyone here, save the mystery man at the head of the table. He was garbed in some ridiculous getup, as is typical for so-called super villains -- Bane had called him “loco” after all. 

“What are you supposed to be?” David asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

The man chuckled. “My ‘villain name’ is Owlman.” _Christ_ , David thought. Three hours in a helicopter just for it to turn out that some looney was running the show. Still, he was curious as to how this Owlman had gained control of the League frequencies. “I’m sure you all have several questions. Please, let us sit.”

Slade grumbled and took his seat opposite Cluemaster, who was giving the man a dirty look. Bane sat down next to him and David sat at the head of the table opposite Owlman. Slade spoke up. “So…” 

“Firstly, I would like to thank our gracious host Bane. Along with Dr. Hurt and Cluemaster, I’ve already briefed him on aspects of the plan, but I’ll summarize it for our new guests. For over ten years--”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” said Slade, standing. “I’ve dealt with H.I.V.E, the League of Shadows, even the Light. I’ve sat through all the meetings and heard all the speeches. Under that silly mask, you’re some rich guy with big dreams. You used that capital to get yourself a special costume and you found ways to reach some of the biggest bad guys around -- and Cluemaster -- to pull off some grand scheme. Let me guess, _Owlman_ , some hero in spandex wronged you in the past and now you want to kill all the good guys. Or the Crisis got you all riled up and now you want to start a new team. I’ve heard it all before. It’s a waste of time. It ends with you in jail or my bullet in your skull. So tell me, owl guy, why should we care?”

Owlman was laughing. “Well done, Mr. Wilson. I do indeed have an evil plan, a vendetta, and I want to form a team. If you indulge us, I think you’ll find some things appealing about our plan.”

“Us?” David wondered aloud. 

Owlman smiled. “There was one major thing you got wrong, Mr. Wilson. I didn’t call this meeting.”

Smoke began to fill the room. David, Slade, and even Cluemaster all stood, immediately on edge. David had a portable respirator in his jacket, but that might not work if the gas was poisonous. The mercenary knew techniques for holding his breath for over ten minutes at a time, but they'd be impaired if he had to fight. 

“Relájate, amigo. It’s just smoke. This one seems to have a taste for the theatrics,” Bane said, almost amused. 

“Gentlemen,” Owlman announced, “may I present the angel of death--”

“Phantasm,” David noted as she stepped into view. “It’s nice to see you again, Ms. Beaumont.” When Ra’s al Ghul had first selected Batman as a potentially worthy successor, David had been one of the agents tasked with finding out all there was to know about Bruce Wayne's history. If you didn’t find out about Andrea Beaumont, the girl who almost stopped Batman from existing in the first place, then you hadn’t done your homework properly. 

Phantasm’s outfit resembled that of a grim reaper, which is what gave her the nickname ‘the angel of death'. Well, that and the murderous hook-hand she wore as a glove. Even as she removed the mask, her presence became no less threatening. She was beautiful, and there was an elegance to her that you would only find in the old Gotham families, but her eyes were clouded with darkness. She moved slowly through the room, meeting every person’s gaze before seating herself in the final seat. 

“Gentlemen, sit. Please,” Owlman said, somewhat exasperatedly. “Never fear, Mr. Wilson. All your questions are about to be answered and more. Andrea has a story to tell you.”

The angel of death looked out around the room before meeting David’s gaze directly. “Some of you know me; some of you have no idea who I am.” Andrea was choosing her words carefully. “One of the few things the members of this group have in common is that we are all aware that Batman is Bruce Wayne.” At that, Slade looked at Cluemaster doubtfully. “When Bruce first returned to Gotham after his training overseas, he met me out of pure happenstance. We were introduced at a cocktail party and ran away from the socialites to spend more time together. After that, we entered a whirlwind romance, and ten weeks after our first encounter, Bruce proposed. I accepted, but our engagement evaporated when my father and I had to flee the country from mobsters who wanted his head. Ten years later, Daddy was long dead and Bruce had given up his chance at a happy life for one as Gotham’s dark crusader.” Andrea sighed, looking down at her mask. “Eventually, I took up a new identity to seek revenge on the mobsters who’d killed my father, which brought me into contact with Batman. I knew it was Bruce before I even set foot back in the city. He let me go, and when I fled back to Europe, the strangest thing happened. I met another Gothamite, an owl.”

“Under this colorful exterior, I go by another name,” Owlman removed his mask. “My true identity is Lincoln March and I’m the Mayor of Gotham City.” 

That was sure unexpected, though the rest of the pieces quickly began to fall into place. “Wait a minute,” said David, smirking. “Comes from Gotham; old money; dresses like an owl -- you wouldn’t happen to be a representative of the Court of Owls, would you?” Gotham City had infamously been built by a select few powerful families, and legend has it that they came together to form a secret society of rich, old white people to run the city. Of course, the Shadows knew this legend to be true. The Court of Owls was very real, or at least it had been. Ra’s had believed the organization defunct before David ever became a member of the League. If it was still active, then it would explain the considerable resources required to access the League of Shadows’ most secure channel. The Court’s influence spread far.

March chuckled. “I’m the current Chairman of the Court.”

“Must be hard, having to juggle being the Mayor of a city and the Chairman of a secret society,” noted Slade.

“If I may,” Andrea interjected, “I’d like to finish the story now. I promise you’ll find it interesting.” Slade and Mayor Owl focused their attention back on Andrea. “Thank you. You see, Lincoln and I had the same passion that several former League of Shadows members here do. We want to better the world by stopping crime and corruption. Exterminating the filth from society and building a better one--”

“Then why is _Cluemaster_ here?”

“Shut the fuck up, Slade!”

Andrea held up a hand to silence the two of them. “Everyone has a part to play.” She collected herself. “A year ago, the Joker died. I knew from the moment I saw the news that Batman would be next. Without his archnemesis to serve as the major reason for his mission to continue, he would try to pass on the mantle. So the announcement came that Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle are getting married, and soon I wager that we’ll see a new Batman on the horizon. His army of child soldiers will continue his crusade until the end of time. The corruption of Gotham will go unchecked and the criminals they put away will continue to cause chaos.” She glanced at March. “No more. Gotham City has long been the world’s cesspit for scum and darkness, but it holds the key to our salvation. What if I told you there was enough power in Gotham to save the world. An army that could topple a city in one night--”

Slade interrupted once more. “Two of the most proficient killers in the world are in this room. We’ve both worked with and trained members of the League of Shadows. They were the greatest army in the world and no one knew they existed, but the heroes still tore them down. What you’re selling is impossible.”

Andrea stood up abruptly. “I’m talking about an army of soldiers so proficient nothing stops them, not even death. Where the only limit to the number of our ranks is the amount of filth we exterminate. And all of this is waiting for us deep below the city, right under Gotham’s feet. Right under Batman’s nose.” She turned to David. “And the Shadows have the key to awakening them.”

Now it was David’s turn to speak up. “You’re talking about the Lazarus Pits. They’re gone.”

Andrea smiled. “No. There’s one more, and your master knows where it is.”

David didn’t doubt that Ra’s may have had some secret backup, but this was still ridiculous. “He’s in the most secure prison cell in the world. Not even I could break him free; if I could, I would have by now.”

“Luckily for you, I can,” said Owlman as he turned to face Slade. “But we’ll need your help.”

The assassin scoffed at that. “What is this? You two have gathered this merry band of rogues and why? Not everyone here wants to ‘save the world’. You’ve got yourself two assassins, a joke--”

“Hey!”

“--a terrorist, and the fucking devil. These people aren’t buying into your plan.” 

David had to agree that most of it was ludicrous, but the army she was describing… he’d heard stories about the Court before. Plus, he’d always suspected there was another Lazarus Pit out there. For a moment, David allowed his mind to clear. He imagined it. Finishing what the Demon’s Head had started. But there was still something missing.

“Some believe in our grand vision,” Andrea said, nodding to David and Bane. “Some of you would do it primarily for compensation. One of you will do it for the opportunity to experiment with some very special toys. But you all have scores to settle with one man.” That got everyone’s attention. “He’s beaten you, humiliated you, fascinated you. He took your children,” David glanced at Cluemaster, who met his gaze.

Cluemaster spoke up. “You’re talking about--” 

“It’s time for the Batman to end.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, intriguing. This is just the beginning, my friends. We haven't even met Batman yet! I've got a long story for you all, and given the state of the world right now, I think I just might have the time to tell it. If you like what you read, leave a comment! It helps motivate my fragile ego. Catch you next week; same bat time, same bat channel!


	2. Birds of a Feather

> **The Bowery, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Tuesday, June 14th, 2022, 01:43 EDT**

“You know, I think it’s time we take the next step in our relationship,” said Bluebird as she put her elbow through the thug’s teeth.

“We’re finally getting a place for ourselves,” Mockingbird offered, dodging the second man’s knife. 

“We’re _not_ moving in together, Steph just moved out. That’s just circumstantial cohabitation,” complained Bluebird. 

Mockingbird sighed. “ _Spoiler_ , not Steph. When the masks are on--”

“The names come off, yeah yeah I get it. Sheesh.” 

It was a sentiment Mockingbird often had to repeat to her girlfriend, but it was true. Under her domino mask, Mockingbird was known to the world as Cassandra Cain, charity case and adopted daughter of billionaire philanthropist Bruce Wayne. To those who really knew her, she was the girl who had been raised by one of the most premier assassins in the world, David Cain, to be the most proficient killer in the world. She’d been rewarded when she hit and maimed, and beaten when she’d tried to speak. Taught to read emotions and anticipate attack rather than talk, Cassandra had run away from her life at the age of eight when her father had her use her ‘talents’ to kill a man. After another eight years on the run from the League of Shadows, she’d wound up in Gotham City right as a member of the Shadows, Bane, turned it into his personal kingdom with an earthquake and an iron fist. She’d helped Batman defeat Bane and take back his city, and got a family out of the deal. They’d taught her to speak, use her abilities for good--and most importantly--to love. 

Bluebird was actually Harper Row. Like a lot of other young children living in Gotham City, they had suffered under an abusive father. But at sixteen, Harper had gotten emancipated and arranged a new life for her and her brother. She was smart, even as a kid, and would’ve been a great engineer if she had the money to go to school. But like a lot of bright, young Gothamites, few were handing out opportunities. After the Cataclysm, however, a lot of stuff needed fixing, so Harper got her GED and started working at an auto repair shop. Harper’s brother Cullen wasn’t doing as well, though. Some gay-bashers beat him up and shaved “Fag” into his head. Being the badass that she was, Harper mimicked the same hairstyle and started walking her brother home from school, even threatening some of the bullies. They didn’t take too kindly to that and broke into the Rows’ apartment to attack them. Luckily, Batman saved them. After that, Harper became a bit of a bat fanatic. She started coming up with ideas on how to improve his technology and would constantly try to get them to him. One day she helped save Batman’s life, and slowly started entering the vigilante lifestyle. After a few years of earning trust, Bluebird became an official member of the Batfamily and met Cassandra. 

Batman, as well as Oracle (the first Batgirl), had granted Cassandra his symbol to wear as Batgirl. Now she bore a symbol of her own as Mockingbird, just as Harper did as Bluebird. To protect their identities, their names vanished when the masks came on. 

“You two made a big mistake by coming here!” shouted a gun-toting mobster as he emerged from the back room. Mockingbird had been trained to see violence before it happened. She saw his eyes take aim and squint as he prepared to pull the trigger. Mockingbird knew better than to give him the chance; she let her Batarang fly, knocking the man’s weapon out of his hand. Bluebird finished him off, smacking him in the face with a chair. 

As members of the unofficially-named Batfamily, it was their duty to patrol Gotham City by night and stamp out injustice wherever they found it. The news on the street was that there was a famous villain in town, one of the really dangerous ones, and their hunt had led them to this bar. 

“Look,” said Bluebird, “all I’m saying is that we should change something up. Maybe we could go on a vacation? I’ve never left the east coast.” She grabbed an empty beer bottle and threw it at an escaping thug. It smashed against the back of his head and brought him to his knees.

Mockingbird walked towards the thug. “I do like to be home at Christmas.” The Cataclysm had ended on Christmas Day 2015, and on that day Batman, Bruce Wayne, promised to adopt her. It was a day for family. “Maybe in January?”

Bluebird came up to the other side of the near-unconscious criminal. “Could be a good time for a getaway. No one likes January.” She kicked the man, who groaned. “Where’s your boss?”

“P-please,” the man muttered, trying to rise. He tried to reach for his gun, but Mockingbird stepped on his hand.

“Tell me.” The man saw through the mask on her face. He couldn’t read emotions as Mockingbird could, but he knew she’d get her answers. He lifted his other arm and pointed to the back room.

“Thanks a lot, pal,” said Bluebird, before finishing what she’d started with another bottle to the man’s head. The two vigilantes made their way towards the backroom door, but Mockingbird was stopped by her partner before she could enter. “There’s only one left in there, probably the boss,” said Bluebird, toggling her detective vision. “So, are we gonna play this the old fashion way? I’m good cop, you’re bad cop?”

Mockingbird readied herself. “Something like that.” Her foot smashed through the door, scattering bits of wood all over the office as a terrified man cowered in the corner.

“Please! Please don’t hurt me!” His hands were raised to stop any potential attack. His eyes darted in a thousand directions, fiery with a thousand possibilities: a counter-attack, escape maybe. But Mockingbird could see from his body language that he had no intention of getting up. He was too scared. Good. Fear was what the symbol carried. She tied his hands and held him up against the wall as Bluebird did the talking.

“So you’re Frankie. Frankie Roltz?” The man nodded. “You own this lovely establishment?” He nodded again. “Great. We’re looking for some information that we heard you might have, Frankie. You play nice, and we won’t have to rough you up...” Cassandra applied pressure to his left hand, causing the man to wince, “... much.”

“What do you want?!”

“There’s an interesting rumor on the streets of Gotham tonight. Reports of a famed mercenary hiding out somewhere in the city. You know the one. Dresses in orange and black; handles a sword; has one good eye. Name rhymes with ‘Seth droke.’”

Frankie gulped. “I ain’t heard nuthin’ about that.”

“Well, the streets sure have. They say that the guy hiding them has a friend and that the friend is named Frankie Roltz.” The man tried to maintain a poker face. His micro-expressions sung a thousand different tunes. “Tell us where Deathstroke is, and we’ll violently knock you unconscious and be on our merry way.”

Frankie steadied himself. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” 

Bluebird smiled and removed the gun-looking device from its holster. “My friend here is an invention of my own design.” The device was sleek yet layered, meticulously designed to act as efficiently as mechanically possible. It was big, too. You couldn’t hold the thing unless you used both your hands. “It’s called the Remote Electric Charge, or REC for short. This baby packs a punch. It’s basically designed to fuck with anything electric. With this, I can stop an elevator in its tracks, disrupt security feeds, and pop a room full of light bulbs like they’re grapes… and if I turn it up to its highest setting,” she said as she cranked the dial on the side, “it can pop you like a grape too.”

That did it. “Okay, okay! Look, my contact runs everything out of Tricorner Yards. The most high-profile clients are kept hidden in outfitted storage crates until they can be moved. Your supersoldier definitely qualifies. Down by Warehouse 52!”

“Thanks, guy,” smiled Bluebird, turning to Mockingbird. “You wanna do the honors?” Mockingbird didn’t say a word, she just knocked the man’s head into the wall with the perfect amount of force. 

As they walked away, Mockingbird found herself wondering about what her girlfriend had said back there. “Could you really ‘pop that guy like a grape’ with your gadget?”

She smiled back. “You think your bat-dad would let me carry it around if it was capable of _that_ kind of lethal force?”

Mockingbird adjusted her utility belt. “I mean, I’m not sure he’d know.”

“No… I guess not,” said Bluebird. 

“I think _you’re_ the bad cop,” Mockingbird said, feigning astonishment. Harper only winked as she pressed the comm on her ear.

A voice came over their channel. _“Go for Sparrow.”_

Bluebird stopped short. “Cullen, what the hell did you just call yourself?”

_“Sparrow. Cassandra-- Mockingbird said I needed a codename so we could communicate in the field.”_

Mockingbird started to speak. “That’s true, I did--” but Bluebird shushed her.

_“I’m a member of The Network now, y’know. I needed an official codename. My cryptonym, my nom de guerre. I chose Sparrow since everyone’s calling themselves birds these days. I mean why the hell are you all called the Batfamily anyway?”_ asked Cullen. _  
_

“You’re an honorary member, and we’re not calling you Sparrow,” Bluebird informed her brother.

_“Why not?”_

“Because it’s trash. Look, we can workshop this later. Deathstroke is in Tricorner Yards; who’s close enough to back us up?”

There was a pause as Cullen searched through the available Gotham heroes on duty. The Network was a coalition of all the smartest ‘hacker heroes’ in the country. Oracle ran the Gotham branch and was also the founder. She had everyone linked on comms that people like Cullen could go through when backup was needed.

_“Ah ha! You’re in luck. Gotham’s hottest hero couple--besides you ladies, of course--is on their way to assist you.”_ Whenever Cullen referred to the hottest hero in Gotham, he meant Tim Drake, aka Cardinal, Mockingbird’s adoptive brother. Unfortunately for Cullen, Tim was locked into a relationship with Stephanie Brown, aka Spoiler. Those two just happened to be Mockingbird’s best friends in the world. She couldn’t help smiling as she heard the news.

“Thanks, Cullen,” said Bluebird.

_“Sparr--”_ but she shut off her mic before her brother could finish. 

Bluebird turned to face her. “Shall we go unburden Deathstroke from his other eye?”

“I don’t know about going quite that far, but this one _is_ a metahuman, so we can play a little rougher than usual.”

“You already know this REC is going on the highest setting.”

* * *

> **Tricorner, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Tuesday, June 14th, 2022, 02:19 EDT**

Cardinal and Spoiler were already perched on the rooftop of Warehouse 52 when Mockingbird and Bluebird arrived. They landed on soft, practiced feet behind the duo, barely making a sound. Even so, they noticed.

“Ah, glad to see you could join us,” said Cardinal, turning to them and smiling.

“Traffic was terrible,” informed Bluebird, taking her spot on the ledge. “Any activity yet?”

“Some, but nothing from our one-eyed mercenary,” replied Spoiler. 

Cardinal pointed to the area below. Several men were standing around with guns, most of them surrounding a particularly large shipping crate near the dock. “We think that’s where Deathstroke is hiding, but we can’t be too sure.”

Bluebird sighed. “Guess it’s time for a stakeout. Have you guys been listening to any good podcasts lately?”

“What did you think of _Office Ladies_?” Spoiler asked.

“It’s definitely a novelty, though I think it shows its age…” 

As the two heroines trailed off into conversation, Cardinal turned to Mockingbird. “Missed ‘ya.”

She smiled. “I missed you too.” 

When his mask came off, Cardinal was known as Tim Drake. His story was an interesting one. He’d followed the adventures of Batman and Robin for most of his life. Tim had been there when the Flying Graysons’ trapeze stunt went wrong and left the parents dead and the boy, Dick Grayson, orphaned. Bruce Wayne, secretly the Batman, took the boy in and trained him to be his sidekick as Robin. By matching Dick Grayson’s acrobatic moves to that of the Boy Wonder, Tim discovered that they were one in the same and that Bruce Wayne was Batman. He followed their career very closely after that. Through the shooting of Barbara Gordon, to the fallout between Bruce and Dick, to the billionaire's adoption of a second son. Jason Todd became the second Robin and then died horribly when the Joker beat him to death on live television. Tim knew that Batman needed a partner to keep him from going off the deep end, so he revealed his knowledge to Dick Grayson. Though the former Boy Wonder refused to become Robin again, he ended up helping Tim fill that role. After a few years, Tim became a very capable sidekick to the Dark Knight and proved it during the Cataclysm. That is what had brought Mockingbird, still known as Cassandra then, and the young Boy Wonder together. Trapped in the same neighborhood during Bane’s reign, they bonded and worked together to help maintain the peace and eventually save the day. It was Tim who had taught Cassandra her first real words. When order had been returned to the city, Bruce adopted both of them. After spending a year trapped together, she had always been closer to Tim than any of her other adoptive brothers. 

Cassandra had met Spoiler in the year following the Cataclysm, known under her mask as Stephanie Brown. Like Cassandra, she was the daughter of a villain, albeit a less dangerous one. Arthur Brown was a simple Riddler rip-off who called himself Cluemaster. Still, Steph had a strong moral compass and a desire to see her cruel father in prison, so she donned an eggplant-colored costume and set out to ‘spoil’ her father’s crimes. Steph had been in a relationship with Tim for a couple of years and had been looking to get more serious with him after a year apart. However, Tim had taken the summer to spend in San Francisco with his friends on the Teen Titans. Feeling lonely, Steph showed up at Cassandra’s bedroom door in Wayne Manor one day and simply asked her if she wanted to be friends. She’d said yes. They’d spent most of the summer hanging out together, and Steph had been the main person working to adjust Cassandra to the normal life of a seventeen-year-old. Still, Cassandra’s friendship could only fill some of the void Tim had left in Steph’s life. After a night of drinking and bad decisions, Steph got pregnant by her ex-boyfriend Dean, right in time for Tim to arrive home. It had taken Cassandra to keep her only two friends together. With Cassandra’s encouragement, Tim supported Steph through the whole pregnancy and helped her give the baby up for adoption once it was born. The experience had brought the three of them closer together, and it had certainly taught Cassandra a few life lessons. They’d all continued their heroic careers and taken on new identities. So when the masks were on, they left their names behind. 

“Hold up,” said Bluebird, pausing Spoiler mid-sentence. She motioned to the men below. One of them had run out of the warehouse to inform another of the goons of something.

“Frankie called,” he said, panting, “the capes got to him. This location’s been compromised.”

The other man cursed and gripped his weapon tighter. “We gotta move him.”

“Don’t bother,” boomed an unknown voice as the door to the large shipping crate swung open and Deathstroke stepped out. “They’re already here.” 

Spoiler sighed. “Well shit.”

Cardinal stood abruptly. “Scatter!” 

The four vigilantes leapt from the ledge of the building as Deathstroke’s bullets peppered the spot where they’d been standing. The other men on the ground were still shooting at that spot, but the metahuman was already moving to get his next shot off on one of the vigilantes. Mockingbird and Spoiler took cover behind a nearby shipping crate while Cardinal and Bluebird leapt across the boardwalk to start pummeling the goons. Deathstroke sprayed bullets across the wall of crates and the hull of a nearby parked ship. 

“We’ll back you up,” said Spoiler, pulling out her escrima sticks. Mockingbird nodded. Cardinal and Spoiler were far more experienced than Bluebird, but not one of them stood a chance with Deathstroke hand-to-hand if he had lethal intentions. On the other hand, Mockingbird had been trained to be the most proficient killer in the world. She had promised herself she’d never take another life, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t use her talents to match Deathstroke. With the help of her friends, she could beat him.

Cardinal and Bluebird had successfully taken down most of the men on the dock and drawn Deathstroke into the open. Mockingbird raced to intercept him while Spoiler moved to cover her. She hurled two Batarangs at him and attempted to bring her fist down on his head as she landed, but he blocked her.

“Ah, the cavalry has arrived,” mocked Deathstroke as he parried an attack from Cardinal and turned on her. In his Deathstroke persona, Slade Wilson wore a tactical suit that left nothing visible, not even the eyes. Half black, half orange, it made it harder to get a read off him, especially since he’d feign every other attack. Still, Mockingbird had dealt with worse. 

“What brings you to Gotham, Slade?” asked Spoiler politely as she threw bolas around his feet. 

“An end of an era, Ms. Brown. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Cardinal swung his bo staff down at Deathstroke’s head, but he caught it with superhuman strength and tossed the hero backward. “I’m afraid we’ve never had the pleasure of sparring together, Ms. Cain. I've heard great things and I am _not_ disappointed.”

Mockingbird blocked his blows and tried her best to unbalance him. “When’s the last time you lost a fight, Slade?”

Deathstroke dodged the blast of Bluebird’s Remote Electrical Charge and it hit Spoiler instead, knocking her to the ground. “It’s been some time, and I don’t plan on breaking my streak now.” He was reaching for his sword; Cardinal blocked him. “I’ve trained with Lady Shiva, you know.”

Lady Shiva was Mockingbird’s mother, though they hadn’t met until she was already wearing the Batman’s symbol on her chest. Shiva was known among the assassin community as the deadliest women in the world. “I’ve beaten Lady Shiva,” Mockingbird countered as she brought Spoiler’s escrima stick down on the mercenary’s kneecap. 

Deathstroke grunted in pain as he blocked Mockingbird’s other blow with his left hand and threw Bluebird off him with his right. “A fine assessment.” 

“Grab his legs!” yelled Cardinal as he got Deathstroke in a headlock. Bluebird attempted to grab his legs as Mockingbird broke his two bottom ribs. Her hits kept coming. They had him. 

“I hate to be a downer,” Deathstroke grunted, “but your friend seems to be having some trouble standing.” Mockingbird didn’t know if Bluebird had fully turned up her REC, but Spoiler was having trouble getting up from where she’d landed. “As much as I’m dying to see what Arkham looks like after the remodel, I’m afraid I’ve got places to be.” He pulled something from his belt with his free hand and tossed it at Spoiler. Mockingbird tried to grab it, but it slipped through her fingers. “That may interest Ms. Brown over there. Now, where was I.” Suddenly, Deathstroke threw off all three of his attackers, spilling smoke pellets across the dock as snatched up his sword. Smoke filled the area where he had been. Mockingbird and Cardinal both threw Batarangs into the cloud, in the hopes of stopping his escape, to no avail. As the fog cleared, Deathstroke was gone, leaving only his echoing voice behind. “Till tomorrow.”

The three vigilantes collected themselves and raced over to check on their friend. “I’m so sorry, Steph,” cried Bluebird as she looked Spoiler over for damage, “I was aiming for the ugly one, I swear.”

Spoiler chuckled as she sat up. A note was clutched in her hand. “I’ll be fine, Bluebird. I’m a whole lot more pissed off about this.” She held up the piece of paper.

“That’s what Deathstroke threw at you?” asked Cardinal, clutching his girlfriend’s hand and examining the note with the other.

“Yeah,” muttered Spoiler. “It’s my dad.”

Cardinal cleared his throat. “It’s Cluemaster, alright. Only Spoiler’s dad would come up with such shitty rhymes. Here it goes: ‘The sun sets and the knight ends. Justice begins where iron and carbon end.’”

Mockingbird wasn’t sure she’d heard the clue correctly. “Did he rhyme ‘ends’ with ‘end’?”

Cardinal scoffed. “The sun _sets_ where the knight ends? That’s knight with a ‘k,’ by the way.”

Bluebird shook her head. “So he’s just the Riddler, but worse?”

Spoiler folded up the note and tucked it away in her utility belt. “He’s almost as shitty a supervillain as he is a father.”

Cardinal and Mockingbird helped Spoiler to her feet, and they all pulled out their grapple guns. As they were preparing to exit before the police arrived, Mockingbird scanned the skyline in the hopes of some sign of Deathstroke. She knew he’d be too quick to be seen, but she could almost see a figure silhouetted on the rooftop. It looked like--

“What’s up?” asked Spoiler, turning to Mockingbird and then following her eye line. 

Mockingbird shook her head. “Just a memory.” Her friends had spent the better part of three years worrying about her mental health. The last thing they needed to hear was that Mockingbird thought she’d seen her father watching her. She’d spent eight years of her life on the run from him, now it was his turn. He was just another memory the Pit had stirred up. She’d had a lot of those since she died. But that was the last thing Mockingbird wanted to think about.

* * *

> **Kane County, NJ  
>  Tuesday, June 14th, 2022, 02:52 EDT**

The sounds of the Batcave’s rushing waters comforted Mockingbird as she and her teammates parked their motorcycles in the hangar. Almost as loud as the crashing waters were the sounds of voices, hardly ideal conditions for vigilantes that relied on fear and silence. But here at home, there was only family to be concerned with. So Mockingbird removed her mask and became Cassandra Cain.

Only ten days out from the wedding, guests had been keeping the manor full, and that meant there were plenty of extra vigilantes running around. As they made their way to the main computer terminal, they saw the usual suspects crowded around. Dick was poured over a stack of closed case files with his daughter Mar’i, clearly trying to teach her something, but the jittery half-Tamaranean was having trouble concentrating. She kept trying to signal Damian over at the med bay and pull him into a conversation, but the stubborn Robin ignored her, focused on flexing some new stitches, much to Dr. Thompkins’ ire. Selina was engaged in conversation with Kate, though she seemed eager to get away. Cassandra caught glimpses of other faces as they passed by: Carrie, Duke, and Bette. Jason was nowhere to be seen, but that was hardly a surprise. 

Bruce and Barbara turned to them as they reached the deck, with Tim speaking first. “As we radioed ahead, Deathstroke got away but he left us a present.”

Steph held up the clue. “Seems like Slade is working with dear old Dad on this one. He left us a poorly-made clue that seems to point to something going down at the Sionis Steel Mill tomorrow night.”

“Huh,” said Barbara, “there’s a pairing I didn’t see coming. And something fishy is always going down at that steel mill. They really ought to condemn the place.”

Bruce nodded. “Deathstroke isn’t the type to arrange a stunt like this. Cluemaster probably hired him to pull this off.”

“Or someone else roped them both into it,” noted Tim.

“And if it was Cluemaster,” said Barbara, “where would he get the capital for something like this? No offense, Steph.”

“None taken.” 

“You all did good work tonight,” said Bruce. “Seems like Cluemaster, or Deathstroke, or both will make a resurgence tomorrow night. We’ll be ready.”

Tim nodded and motioned to Steph. “She got a little banged up in the fight, I think we should have Leslie take a look at her.” 

Bruce stood. “You should all have Leslie take a look at you. After that, get some rest.”

“Bruce,” Cassandra interjected, “if we could have a word in private.”

He nodded. Barbara turned her chair around and started heading down the ramp. “I should go save Dick from his daughter.” It was subtle, but Cassandra could hear the tiniest agitation in her voice when she said ‘ _his_ daughter’. 

As the others started heading for the med bay, Harper turned and smiled at Cassandra. “See you at home.”

Bruce sat down in his chair and motioned for her to take the one opposite him. “What’s up?”

“It’s Deathstroke. When we were fighting, he mentioned how he was there to see the ‘end of an era.’ It might be nothing, or just referring to whatever he and Cluemaster have got planned for tomorrow, but…”

Bruce stopped her. “Whatever they’ve got planned, we’ll be ready.” Cassandra wanted to say something more, but a strange look filled Bruce’s eyes. He was staring, but not at her, almost as if he was fixated on something that wasn’t there. “Goodnight, Cassandra,” he said suddenly and then turned back to his work. Her adoptive father certainly wasn’t known for his words, but the encounter was a little curt. 

As Cassandra walked away, she couldn’t help but smile. With the wedding almost upon them, everyone she loved was right here at home; the city was safer than ever; the monsters that had hunted her for so long were gone. For the first time in a long while, she was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice to finally meet some of our actual protagonists. Seems like the baddies from Chapter 1 have put some kind of plan together. What could that mean for our heroes? And what's up with the mysteries in this chapter? Bruce acting strange, David Cain appearing to Cass and then vanishing, and hold up-- Cass died? When!? That's not in the comics. Unsubscribed. But in all seriousness, if you're at all enjoying this story please leave a comment as it helps to motivate my poor, fragile ego. I'll see you next week with a brand new chapter, this time from the perspective of Batman himself! Same bat time, same bat channel.


	3. All in a Day's Work

Screams and shouts made their way up from the ground where chaos was slowly dwindling. The sky was filled with a thousand of Joker’s balloons, but Superman and a pair of Green Lanterns were handling them. Red Hood and Harley Quinn, among others, had been able to stop the launch of the rest. His greatest allies were saving the day below, disarming the Laugh Pack, and making sure none of the gas reached the rest of the city, but atop the smoking Ferris wheel, it was only Batman and the Joker.

Even in the face of his greatest scheme’s failure, the Joker laughed at the world. The madman’s finger had already left the trigger that had launched the first wave of his Joker-Gas balloons into the air, and he tossed it off the ride with a shrug. Batman could feel the steel beams creaking beneath them as he charged at his nemesis. Joker was still laughing as he reached for his gun. The flames were climbing up the side of the Ferris wheel, already torching the base. Batman pulled out his grapple gun and fired a line around one of the car handles, readying himself for whenever the base gave out. Joker was firing his gun now, barely aiming at Batman, still laughing as he tried to step back onto the roof of the next car. 

Batman felt the exact moment when the base broke, and the Ferris wheel started to careen to the right. He felt gravity pull him from the car he was standing on and send him towards the ground, but his line held strong and he hung on as the wheel slowly began to fall. Joker was not so lucky, and he fell backward off the Ferris wheel as he tried to switch cars. Batman swung directly in the clown’s direction, aligning just enough to grab the madman’s hand. His muscles tensed as he found himself holding 190 pounds back from falling, gravity pulling them and the Ferris wheel all the way. Batman felt his line pull taught, the weight of his adversary racing across his biceps and abdominal muscles as he held the man back from death. But the Joker kept falling, slipping from Batman’s grasp and leaving a fake hand behind as he raced towards the Earth, laughing all the way. He fell three stories and crashed through the boardwalk below.

As the flaming Ferris wheel reached a forty-five-degree angle, Batman let go of his line and used his cape to glide safely to the Earth. His eyes scanned the impact area for those at risk. There were still dozens of people who had yet to evade the falling amusement park ride, including Robin. Before he could even reach the ground to shield his son from flaming doom, Wonder Woman grabbed hold of the Ferris wheel’s base--the part that was still intact--and pushed off the ground, flying it back to an upright position. Simon Baz, a Green Lantern, used his ring to grab hold of the other side and brought it down softly onto the empty beach, away from the fight.

Robin was pushing past him before Batman could even confirm that he was unhurt, throwing a Batarang at a nearby Joker goon to prevent his escape. After a quick glance around the park and ensuring that his allies were defusing the situation, Batman raced to the spot where Joker had fallen. He’d crashed through the boardwalk and into a basement below, some kind of storage area for additional supplies. The drop was nothing compared to the initial thirty feet Joker had fallen, and Batman dropped swiftly onto the damp ground. 

The force of the impact had left Joker worse for wear. The basement ground was coated in what seemed like gallons of the villain’s blood, and pieces of rebar stuck up through his torso where vital organs might once have been. The Joker had essentially exploded from the impact of the near-forty-foot drop, but he was still laughing. 

Joker’s eyes gleamed as he caught sight of Batman. “Batsy, you’re here too? This _is_ heaven.” He opened his mouth again, but this time a violent, bloody cough came out instead of laughter.

Batman took a step closer. “The toxins you ingested are still in your system. The adrenaline is the only thing keeping you conscious.” Shortly after Batman and his allies arrived, Joker ingested some kind of toxin-derived steroid to fight off the heroes. 

“So this isn’t the great beyond?” the Joker asked disappointedly. He knocked on the floor next to him. “Are you there God? It’s me, Joker. What’s the holdup down there?” He turned his gaze to Batman. “Oh, you gotta come with, Bats! This is our last hurrah! The finale!” He fiddled for his gun, but the weapon had been lost in the fall.

Batman could hear the shouts of his allies above as Joker’s gang was brought down and the deathly balloons were destroyed. “You failed, Joker, just like all the other terrible plans you’ve concocted over the last twenty-one years. We stopped you. This is the end.

The blood was pouring out of him now, and still, the Joker laughed. “Oh, Batsy. We’ve danced this dance for so long… how the hell are you gonna get along without me? Face it, Bats, you need me.”

Batman ignored his strangled words. “Do you wanna know something funny? You’ve killed thousands of people. Men, women, children… infants. You’ve torn this city apart. You’ve gone after my friends, you’ve crippled my allies,” he kneeled down so he could look directly into the Joker’s eyes, “you beat my son to death. Immortal madmen and genocidal, alien dictators, yet you’re the evilest creature I’ve ever come across. Even after all of that, after everything you’ve done… I would have saved you.”

Joker let out a final, tortured laugh. “That… that is pretty funny.” Then he lay his head back, and with a smile on his face, the Joker died.

* * *

> **Kane County, NJ  
>  Wednesday, June 15th, 2022, 04:08 EDT**

_Bruuuuce. Wake up, Bruce._

Bruce awoke to the sounds of his fiancé’s morning sickness. He’d learned to sleep with alert ears decades ago, and the sounds of retching coming from the master bathroom were unmistakably Selina’s. He threw back the thin covering and got out of bed, crossing the polished, wooden floor to the bathroom. Bruce entered to find her tying her hair back as she flushed the toilet. She caught his eye in the mirror as she washed her hands. 

“Sorry I woke you,” said Selina, wiping her mouth. 

“I had an early night. You okay?” Bruce asked, taking her hand and guiding her back to the bed.

“Yeah,” she said, sighing, “just thought I was supposed to be done with this morning sickness shit. It’s been twelve weeks.”

Bruce lifted the cover for her as they climbed back into bed. “Leslie said it’d dissipate between twelve and fourteen. We can check in again with her before the honeymoon.”

Selina smirked as she laid back. “I’m not too worried about it. That dreaded baby bump is coming soon though.”

“I just wanna make sure we’re careful--”

“I’m a forty-four-year-old woman with a history of injuries having her first child. You don’t need to explain ‘being careful’ to me _again_ , Bruce.” She took his hand in hers. “Don’t worry, we’ve taken all the proper precautions. I even stopped dressing up in a leather catsuit and stealing shiny things for this goddamn kid.” She smiled at him. “This next week is all about us.” Bruce tried to smile at that, but Selina saw right through him. “What’s wrong?” she asked, frowning.

Bruce sighed. “Just tired.”

She wasn’t having it. Selina had learned to see through him long ago. “You dreamt it again, didn’t you?” 

_Well? Cat got your tongue?_

Bruce nodded. “It’s been happening less but…” he trailed off. 

Selina rested her hand on his shoulder. “It’s not a memory that’s gonna leave any of us anytime soon. That was a big one, an end of an era.” She smiled at him. “But hey, we probably wouldn’t be getting married if that bastard wasn’t dead.”

Bruce smiled fakely and brushed her hand away. “Let’s get some rest.”

* * *

> **Kane County, NJ  
>  Wednesday, June 15th, 2022, 09:39 EDT**

The smell of Alfred’s famous cooking and the sounds of half a dozen hungry house guests filled the manor as Bruce descended the stairs from the east wing. Of course, _It_ was there, walking alongside him and whistling a casual tune. Bruce entered the kitchen to find Alfred fussing over Damian and Mar’i, who he had enlisted to help in the breakfast process, a decision he now surely regretted. 

“Good morning, Master Bruce,” nodded Alfred as he attempted to manage four pans at once. 

“What are we cooking?” Bruce asked.

“We are _attempting_ to cook eight omelets, though we had to explain to Mar’i that we use the stove to heat the pans and not our alien abilities,” announced Damian, glaring at his cousin Mar’i as she broke an egg.

“Well, I wouldn’t have had to if Damian hadn’t insisted we cook everything at once.”

“Children!” Alfred said sternly, raising his voice just enough to quiet the young ones. “You are free to argue in your own time, but when we are working together, I expect that you both remain civil.” Damian quickly looked to his father, but Bruce just nodded in agreement with Alfred and walked away, making sure they didn’t see him smile. 

“As you say, Pennyworth,” Damian grumbled. 

Bruce may spend his nights striking fear into the hearts of criminals, but in the kitchen, fear of Alfred held sway. 

The baby Selina was carrying was to be Bruce’s second biological child, but he was already a father of five. Damian was the product of a troubled relationship between Bruce and Talia al Ghul, daughter of Ra’s al Ghul and a leading member of the terrorist organization known as the League of Shadows. Said group had been responsible for the Cataclysm of Gotham City, and a careful effort by Bruce and his allies had brought them down three years ago. He hadn’t known about Damian until the Shadows fell, with Talia keeping the boy’s existence secret from Bruce for ten years. A full eighteen years before that discovery, however, Bruce had adopted a young boy named Dick Grayson. After that, there had been others: Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, and Tim Drake. Bruce had seen aspects of himself in all of them and had trained them to work through their anger, with each one of them eventually taking up their own identities and standing beside him. Mar’i was a different story. After over a decade of on-and-off romance between Dick Grayson and Barbara Gordon, they had gotten married. The very night of their wedding, Dick’s other serious girlfriend Koriand’r, an alien from his days with the Teen Titans who had been ruling her home planet for years in deep space, turned up with his previously-unknown daughter. While things had quieted down since then, and Dick and Barbara had made their peace with Kori, young Mar’i certainly threw a wrench into the life they’d been planning.

Dick, Barbara, and Mar’i (sometimes) lived in the neighboring city of Blüdhaven, New Jersey, but they had been staying at Wayne Manor for the wedding. Of all the children who had lived in the house, Damian was the only one who primarily lived at home, being only thirteen, to keep Bruce, Selina, and Alfred company. It was for this reason that Bruce knew to expect an additional guest as he entered the family dining room, since Damian had mentioned they were making eight omelets and the house currently held seven residents. His suspicions were confirmed when he spotted his third son Tim engaged in a conversation with Barbara.

_Good call, Bats. You are the World’s Greatest Detective, after all._

“The Batman asleep past nine,” Dick said, feigning shock. “I guess marriage really does change a man.”

Tim smiled at his adoptive father. “Hey, Bruce. Sorry to drop in on you guys, but I needed to grab some tech Babs has been helping me with for work.”

Bruce smiled back. “You’re always welcome in this house, Tim.” 

“What’s the status in the kitchen?” asked Barbara. Mrs. Grayson had been the first Batgirl before a bullet from the Joker left her paralyzed from the waist down. Now she operated the world’s most advanced surveillance network and acted as technological backup to heroes all across the globe, all from the confines of her wheelchair as Oracle.

“Breakfast is coming along, though maybe not as smoothly as it would without the kids’ assistance,” admitted Bruce. 

Dick was reading something on his phone. “Well, the nice thing is that they try.”

“After work,” Tim said, sipping at some tea that Alfred had presumably brought out earlier, “Stephanie and I are gonna go scope out the Steel Mill and see what we find. If we can bust them before whatever Deathstroke and Cluemaster have planned for tonight, we’re sure to avoid some trouble.” Bruce nodded his approval.

“So, Bruce,” started Barbara, “you’re having lunch with the Mayor today, right?”Bruce nodded. “I am. We’re supposed to finally be formalizing the ‘New Gotham’ initiative we pitched him after he was sworn in.” Bruce accepted a mug of tea from Dick. “I have to stop by Research and Development first though.”

“The boss is coming to work today, huh? Should I be worried?” Tim asked, smirking. Bruce’s third son had a genius-level IQ that had earned him enrollment into Ivy University, the world’s most prestigious college, during the school year. While at home, Tim worked in R&D at Wayne Enterprises, Bruce’s company.

Bruce shook his head. “Nothing serious. Just need something for a case I’m working on.”

“Well you gotta let me drive you,” Tim said. “Showing up to work with the boss in my passenger seat will earn me tons of street cred with the department.”

“Really?” Dick said with one eyebrow raised. “Showing up to work with your boss will earn you street cred?”

“Hey,” Tim said, raising his hands, “at least it’ll allow me an opportunity to really show off my Stingray.”

“Your Stingray, huh?” asked Bruce. Like Dick before him, Tim had no qualms about taking full advantage of Bruce’s collection of expensive sports cars. The Chevy Corvette Stingray was Tim’s favorite, and he absconded with it every summer. 

“I’d buy my own--”

“Tim making excuses about his car again?” asked Selina as she entered, kissing Bruce on the cheek and sitting down next to him.

“Selina says it’s my car,” protested Tim, gesturing in her direction. The group ignored him.

“You guys!” exclaimed Barbara. “Wedding’s only ten days away! Are you two ready?”

Selina smiled at Bruce. “I think it took us long enough.” 

Tim grinned at them and shook his head. “You know before I found myself all tied up in it, I spent most of my early years researching the life of Bruce Wayne. All the cases I studied, all the life events I learned about… I never would’ve guessed Batman could settle down.”

“Y’know I always thought it would be Vale,” teased Dick. He nodded at Bruce. “You two hit it off right from the start.”

“If you’re gonna do that thing where you start running down all of Bruce’s exes again, I’d advise against it,” warned Selina. “This bride still has claws.”

“I’m well aware,” admitted Dick. “Of the numerous scars acquired from my time as Batman’s child soldier, I’m pretty sure this one claw mark is from an early tussle between Catwoman and the Dynamic Duo some twenty years ago.” 

Barbara quieted her husband. “Well, all I know is that this wedding is gonna be a spectacle. There are lots of familiar faces coming to see you guys tie the knot. I mean hell, Superman is coming to see you guys get married!”

“Lazy bastard didn’t come to our wedding,” complained Dick. “Something about fighting intergalactic war criminals on Rann. That blue boy scout gave me my name and everything.”

“Well it’s gonna be one to remember,” said Tim.

Bruce smiled and nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “I’m gonna check on the breakfast.” 

_What’s the matter, Brucie? Tired of this conversation?_

He could just make out Selina’s words “rough morning” as he walked away. 

* * *

> **Kane County, NJ  
>  Wednesday, June 15th, 2022, 10:42 EDT**

“Don’t even try to drive,” warned Tim, pointing Bruce to the passenger seat as he walked around to the driver’s side. Tim turned on the engine and put on a pair of sunglasses. “Let’s ride.”

Kane County, where Wayne Manor was located, was fourteen miles outside the main city. With the car’s fast speeds and their knowledge of the city’s shortcuts, they’d make it uptown within half an hour. 

As they sped onto the highway, Bruce looked over at his son. “So what’s up?”

Tim kept his eyes on the road and shrugged. “Nothing out of the ordinary. I mean, things are good. Crime’s down in a big, big way. What Luke and I are doing at work is pretty fulfilling stuff. I feel like we’re making some real progress… and once the summer’s over, I’ve got all my credits lined up to get my Bachelor’s. Stephanie’s good too. She finally moved in, and I know her job at the Foundation is allowing her a lot of freedom.” Tim glanced at his adoptive father. “How are you doing?”

_Yeah, Bruce, how’s your head?_

“I’m doing well,” Bruce said, smiling, ignoring _It’s_ presence in the back row of the car. “Better than I have in a really long time. What you said at breakfast was true. I’m really doing it: settling down. I’m gonna leave this life behind. Next year, I’ll turn fifty, and I’ll be a married man with a brand new kid.” He tried to believe the things he was saying. “I certainly never thought I’d make it this far. Definitely didn’t expect to make it to fifty.”

Tim laughed. “At least you’ll have a solid decade grace period before you have to put the new kid in a cape.”

Bruce chuckled at that. “What about you? Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

Tim scoffed at that. “That’s a big one.”

“Ah, come on,” Bruce insisted. “You’re twenty-three, your head’s out of your ass by this point. What’s Tim Drake doing in 2032? Does he still wear a cape? Is he married? Does he have kids?”

Tim was silent for a moment. “I think he’s married. With Steph, god willing. Kids, well… I’d sure like ‘em. Does he wear a cape? Five years ago, I would’ve said ‘hell yeah.’ Now… I don’t know… I guess we’ll see.”

Bruce smiled at his son’s honesty. “There are other ways of helping people than dressing up as a bat and striking fear into the hearts of criminals. Alfred’s been telling me that every day for twenty-three years.”

“Yeah, I know.” Tim maneuvered into the left lane to pass a car. “I wonder where Damian will be in ten years.”

Bruce thought back to the morning’s breakfast. “He won’t be a chef.”

As the song on the radio finished playing, Tim turned the channel and found himself on the receiving end of a news broadcast. “We are just getting reports that President Luthor’s approval rating has reached 70%. The President’s favor with the American people has only risen since--” Tim shut the feed off abruptly. 

“I wanna hit him again,” growled Tim. “That bastard should be rotting in hell, not holding the most powerful seat in the world.” 

Lex Luthor had become the 46th President of the United States in 2021 after beating incumbent Mitt Romney in the previous year's election. He’d made history as the first non-politician to ever become President. Luthor was well-known to the superhero community as–unbeknownst to the public–he was a major supervillain who had combated Superman and the Justice League for over twenty years. After Superman was thought dead following an encounter with the alien monster Doomsday in 2010, Lex began producing a series of clones from the Man of Steel's DNA that could replace the hero... and serve his own purposes. While most of these attempts had failed, Luthor succeeded with the clone Kon-El by splicing his _own_ DNA with Superman’s, creating a half-Kryptonian boy grown to the age of sixteen in a matter of weeks. Kon-El would've been kept on ice for years if a young group of heroes hadn’t busted him out, led by none other than Tim Drake, then known as Robin. Tim and Kon had gone on to become great heroes as Robin and Superboy, and they’d formed a powerful bond. They’d been the best of friends… even more than friends. But in the Crisis, Superboy had died saving the world, and Luthor had been largely responsible. When he showed up at Titans Tower to offer Tim his ‘condolences,’ Bruce’s son had punched him so hard it knocked him out. One punch. It was only because Tim was so _good_ that Luthor left relatively unscathed. If it had been Jason’s friend who died for him, well… Luthor would be too dead to be President. 

“He’s done a lot of good,” Bruce admitted. Luthor’s support largely came from his championing of universal healthcare and extensive immigration. 

“Doesn’t wash away the bad he’s done,” Tim countered.

“No,” Bruce said. “No, it doesn’t.”

* * *

> **Old Gotham, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Wednesday, June 15th, 2022, 11:15 EDT**

When they pulled up to Wayne Tower, a valet rushed out to intercept them. Tim handed him the keys and thanked him before heading up to the doors. The tower was the headquarters of Wayne Enterprises and the office where WayneTech operated out of, which was the division Tim worked in. They greeted a security guard and headed for the elevators as whispers and quick stares erupted around them.

“See?” whispered Tim, winking. It certainly wasn’t commonplace for the CEO of the company to drop by these days. “Are you going up or down?” asked Tim as they reached the split between lower and upper elevators.

“All the way down,” commented Bruce as he pressed a button on the closest elevator. 

“The icebox?” questioned Tim, confused. “What do you want with Fries?”

“He’s looking at some blood samples for a case I’m working on,” said Bruce half-truthfully. 

_But whose blood, Bats?_

Tim nodded as he began walking to the row of elevators that would take him up to Research and Development. “Well, I’ll see you at the Steel Mill tonight. Don’t you try and steal all the fun.” As Tim got into his elevator, he called, “And don’t take my car!”

Bruce shook his head as he got into his own elevator, pressing the lowest level button. _It_ made sure to squeeze its way in before the doors shut. The elevator carried Bruce down to the lowest sub-basement, beneath even the parking garages. As he stepped out into the entry chamber, he already felt cold. The chamber was reinforced to keep its room temperature while the lab on the other side of the glass kept a cool negative ten degrees Fahrenheit. Bruce shrugged off his jacket and tie and grabbed the woolen parka. There was a speaker inside that lab that would allow Bruce to communicate with the scientist inside without having to enter himself, but Bruce didn’t mind a little cold. He slipped on the pants, boots, and scarf that would keep him warm and cozy while he was inside the sub-zero lab. Bruce spun the wheel of the heavy metal door, pulled it open, and stepped inside.

While Bruce was heavily garbed to protect him from the freezing conditions, the man who had once been known as Mister Freeze was dressed in sandals, shorts, and a t-shirt. While hardly typical lab etiquette, he did at least have safety goggles and gloves as well. Freeze’s criminal career had been motivated by the need to find a cure for his dying wife. Years ago, Batman had managed to help him do so and convinced the police that Victor Fries, the alter ego of Freeze, was better-suited working in medical research than in a jail cell. 

“Mr. Wayne,” greeted Fries as he looked up from his microscope. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Hello, Victor,” said Bruce, somewhat struggling to speak properly through the thick scarf. “What are you working on?”

“Better solutions for chemical burns,” said Fries before pointing to the adjacent table. “The blood samples you requested are over there.”

Bruce nodded and walked over to the table. “So what’s the verdict?”

Fries removed his goggles. “Thankfully, the samples are free of any of the contaminants your _friend_ was worried about.”

_Friend? What’s the matter, Bruce? Don’t want people to know you’re the one going crazy?_

Bruce frowned. “It’s free of all of them?”

Fries nodded. “I checked for my own hunches too. The blood is clean of any toxins or hallucinogens. Good news, to be sure?”

“Very,” Bruce lied, thankful that Fries couldn’t see his grim expression through the scarf. “Thank you for doing this; I know you have a lot on your plate already.”

“For the man who saved me?” said Fries, raising his hands. “It’s never a problem. So… is there a Mrs. Wayne waiting at home?”

“Not just yet, wedding’s the Saturday after next,” Bruce explained.

Fries nodded. “Well, Nora and I send our congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said. “Well I won’t disturb you any longer; I’ve got a lunch date with the Mayor, I’m afraid.”

Fries chuckled. “The cold isn’t for everyone.”

“That too.” Bruce waved as he exited the lab. “Thanks again, Doctor.”

“Always,” Fries called back.

* * *

> **Old Gotham, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Wednesday, June 15th, 2022, 11:28 EDT**

As Bruce sped along in _his_ Stingray, he couldn’t help but feel defeated once more. For months, he’d been trying to find the cause of _It_ , but no theories had panned out. Scarecrow had died a year ago and there was no trace of his fear gas or any variants in Bruce’s system. He’d talked to everyone he could, and Bruce had only succeeded in making them all suspicious. The last thing he wanted was for them to find out about his… condition. 

_All that stuff is just inside their heads. Don’t worry, you and I are good._

Bruce’s meeting with the Mayor was scheduled for noon, and that wouldn’t be for another half hour. He might as well stop and visit with Harvey for a few minutes. 

Bruce pulled up to the curb and handed the keys off to another valet. He knew he’d find Harvey somewhere on the first floor. Bruce Wayne and Harvey Dent had been childhood friends. While Bruce went on to travel the world and become Batman, Harvey became Gotham’s District Attorney. An accident in the year 2000 had scarred one half of Harvey’s face and turned him into the villain Two-Face. After years as one of Gotham City’s famous career criminals, Harvey had surgery to help partially reconstruct his face. Coupled with psychological help from his time in Arkham Asylum, this allowed Harvey to pursue a normal life once more. While the city would certainly never let him practice law again, Harvey’s knowledge of Gotham’s criminal underworld made him a valuable asset to both the Mayor’s Office and the District Attorney’s Office. 

As Bruce patrolled the lobby, he heard Harvey call out to him. “Bruce!” While the surgery hadn’t fixed all of the extensive scar tissue, it had gone a long way to making Harvey look more like himself. 

“Hey, buddy,” said Bruce, taking Harvey’s hand in his own. 

“What brings you down here?” Harvey asked.

Bruce nodded to the elevator. “Lunch with Mr. Mayor in a few minutes, but I thought I’d see if I could catch you first. Are you working here this week?”

Harvey nodded. “I’ve been working with Gordon on tracking the movements of the Neon Gang in Gotham Village. Been here all week.” James Gordon had once been the Commissioner of the Gotham City Police Department but now served as the Deputy Mayor.

_I don’t think ‘ol Harv can see me. Heh, I must be standing on his bad side._

“Never thought Gotham would have to bring the swift hand of justice down on anyone calling themselves the Neon Gang,” said Bruce, smirking. 

“Well they might be below Batman’s pay grade,” said Harvey, lowering his voice, “but someone has to take them down.” As part of his effort to get Harvey to finally accept help, Bruce had revealed his identity as Batman to him. “So, are you ready? The big day is coming up.” Not only was Bruce marrying one of his former enemies, but he’d invited several of them to the wedding. As Barbara had said, it would be a spectacle. 

“Feeling pretty ready,” said Bruce. “It’s been a long time coming.”

Harvey smiled. “That’s great, man. I’m sure it’ll turn out better than my marriage.” Harvey’s ex-wife had become a serial killer and murdered several people. “You know I always thought you’d tie the knot earlier. Hell, as soon as you got back you jumped right into bed with Andrea. I mean shit, two months and you guys almost got married.” 

Bruce hadn’t thought about Andrea Beaumont in a long time. His first true love. Bruce had met her upon returning from his travels and they’d entered a whirlwind romance. He’d even proposed, and had Andrea and her father not fled the country from mobsters the same night, they would’ve been married. Bruce never would have become Batman… he might never have met Selina. Years later, Andrea had returned to Gotham as the vengeful Phantasm, intent on taking down the mobsters who had killed her father. She and Bruce had come to blows, and once Andrea had finished her mission, she’d disappear. He didn’t even know if she was still alive.

“Well, I think I picked the right girl this time. We’re both glad to finally be doing it.”

Harvey shook his head and smiled. “That’s great. I’m really happy for you. And hey, I heard a rumor there might even be a kid on the way.”

Bruce nodded. “There might just be some truth there. At the wedding, we’ll officially--”

“Bruce!” called a voice from above. Bruce looked over. It was Mayor March, exiting the elevator with a few members of his staff. “Were we on for 11:30?” he asked, checking his watch.

“No, no, I’m just early,” explained Bruce. “Saying hi to a friend.”

Harvey nodded to the files under his arm. “I should get going anyway.”

“Well, it was good catching up. I’ll see you soon,” Bruce said.

Harvey waved as he walked away, greeting the Mayor on his way out. “Likewise.”

Mayor Lincoln March stopped next to Bruce. “Well I’m calling it; I’m famished. We’ve got a reservation at Bamonte’s.”

Bruce pointed to the Stingray parked out front. “I’ll even drive you.”

Lincoln whistled. “Yes, you will. Deborah, have Mike and the boys follow behind.” 

The Mayor’s security detail peeled off to another car as Bruce retrieved his keys and unlocked the doors. “Hungry?” asked Lincoln as he got into the passenger seat.

“Very,” admitted Bruce. Breakfast had been a bit hit-or-miss, depending on who had made which omelet. 

“Well perfect,” said Lincoln. “I’m sure we’ll have a lot to talk about.”

* * *

> **Robbinsville, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Wednesday, June 15th, 2022, 12:56 EDT**

Bruce thanked the waiter as he took away the last course, turning back to Lincoln. “Well, I think that covers the Wayne Foundation’s contributions to schools this quarter. Care to talk about the big picture?”

Lincoln spread his hands. “New Gotham.”

“Exactly,” confirmed Bruce. “I don’t need to tell you that the Cataclysm shook up the city, figuratively and very much literally. You won the election because you promised big changes, and Wayne Enterprises wants to help you implement them.”

Lincoln nodded. “The city’s been hurting since long before you and I got here. I intend to fix it. Crime is down but we’ve got a surplus of criminals, and no matter how secure Arkham is--all credit goes to you on that front, by the way--they keep escaping. We need to seriously consider doing something about them.”

Bruce frowned. Proposed solutions to the Arkham issue over the past twenty years had rarely worked. “Criminality goes far beyond the prison cells, Lincoln.”

“Oh I know,” said the Mayor. “I’ve done my best to clean house here in the Mayor’s office, and having Gordon as my second-in-command has allowed us to take a good look at the police department. We’re working towards a complete overhaul of the established order.”

“To make this work, we have to turn everything on its head,” Bruce warned.

“And I am more than prepared to do that,” said Lincoln. “I’m talking about restructuring the city’s entire funding. More housing projects, more homeless shelters, more education benefits. Your company's contributions are what is gonna allow us to do so.”

“I’m with you, Lincoln.”

The Mayor smiled. “We’re more alike than you know, Bruce. We both come from means, but also tragedy. I was an orphan myself, yet I got to be raised in the lap of luxury. This city saved me, and since my earliest days, all I’ve wanted to do was return the favor.”

“I admire that,” Bruce said. He removed the folders from his briefcase and spread them out across the table. Each once contained information on various details of Gotham’s infrastructure. “Since you brought it up first, let’s start with Arkham…”

Their conversation dipped into logistics and economics. An hour passed of the two men just agreeing and finalizing the details of a plan they’d been working on for months. 

“Seems like we both want the same thing,” said Bruce, smiling as their discussion finally came to an end.

“Well before I let you go, I gotta congratulate you on the wedding,” said Lincoln. “Selina seems like a real catch. I’m happy for you two. Though I have to say, I was a little disappointed not to get an invitation.”

Bruce smiled awkwardly. “We’re keeping it to just the close family and friends.”

“Doesn’t seem to have stopped my Deputy Mayor from getting invited,” joked Lincoln.

“Gordon’s an old friend.”

“Well, he speaks very highly of you.” Lincoln stood up and looked out at the Gotham skyline. “I truly believe you’re the right man for this job, Bruce. We’re gonna tear down everything that’s wrong with this city and build something new. Change is coming.” Bruce chuckled. Lincoln turned to him with a smirk. “Was it something I said?”

Bruce shook his head. “I’m just thinking back to something my father told me as a boy. When I began to learn about all the problems of my home, I proclaimed how I would use our family’s resources to reshape the city. He told me a nursery rhyme about a society of Gotham’s founding fathers, who were always watching and resisted any real change.”

“The Court of Owls!” said Lincoln.

“You heard it too?” asked Bruce.

“Every well-off child in Gotham heard the story as a boy,” explained Lincoln. “It went like this: ‘Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadow perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed, speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send The Talon for your head.’”

Bruce clapped lightly as Lincoln sat back down. “The Talon was their soldier?” he asked.

Lincoln waved his hand. “I don’t pretend to remember _all_ the details. In any case, I don’t pretend to be afraid of a few nocturnal animals. Nursery rhymes be damned, change is coming.”

Bruce raised his glass. “To the future.”

Lincoln grabbed his and clinked it against Bruce’s glass. “To the future.”

* * *

> **Old Gotham, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Wednesday, June 15th, 2022, 20:04 EDT**

After a series of back-to-back appointments for the Wayne Foundation, Bruce’s role as the CEO of Wayne Enterprises was done for the day. As he got into the Stingray once more, he couldn’t help but think back to a hunch that had plagued him earlier. He dialed the main Batcave channel on his pocket communicator. 

_“Signal here,”_ answered Duke Thomas, an associate of the Batfamily who frequented the cave.

“Signal, it’s Batman. I need you to run another trace on that clue from last night.”

There was a pause as Duke presumably located the case file. “We checked it for fingerprints and all the other usuals. No hits.”

“I need you to check it for exposure to methane gas. The Sionis Steel Mill doesn’t use methane in their steel production, but the lesser-used Ace Mills does.”

“...Can we do that?” Duke asked.

Bruce sighed. “Just put the card in the scanner.”

Sounds of Duke fumbling around with the evidence carried over the communicator as Bruce pulled up to a stoplight. “Got it,” said Duke. “You were right. There’s the faintest tracing of methane.”

Bruce veered to the left, cutting off a car and ignoring the ensuing honk. “Thank you, Signal.”

“You want me to get you back up? Sun’s going down fast. Deathstroke might be ready to make his move.”

“No,” said Bruce firmly. “I don’t want anyone else going up against him; I’ll deal with it. Just do me one favor and make a drop on the roof of Ace Mills.”

“Sure thing. Do you--” But Bruce cut him off as he ended the call and dialed Selina on his cell.

“Hey. I’m not gonna make it to dinner tonight,” Bruce said apologetically.

_“Uh, that’s fine. I’m all for ditching the high society stuff, but… what’s up? The Mayor keeping you?”_

“No. I found out that Deathstroke is gonna be making his stand at a different Steel Mill. I’m on my way now to take him out now.”

_“Want me to send the kids to help?”_ asked Selina. _“I hear Cassandra almost got him last time.”_

“Gonna keep this between Slade and me.”

_“I’ll keep it on the down-low then.”_ Selina cleared her throat. _“Just try not to die. We just spent all this money on a wedding after all.”_

“I’ll do my best,” said Bruce, smiling. 

Selina laughed. _“Alright. Love--”_ Bruce hung up the phone and tossed it in the passenger seat. 

* * *

> **Miagani Island, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Wednesday, June 15th, 2022, 20:46 EDT**

The sun had almost set as Bruce pulled up to the factory. Ace Mills was newer than the Sionis Steel Mill, but by no means fancier. It was the crumbling business that had been built from the ashes of Ace Chemicals when the plant went up in flames a decade ago. As Bruce locked the car, he scanned the rooftops for the package. He was answered by the rumble of the Batwing as it flew overhead, dropping the package onto the roof of the nearest building. Duke had done exactly what he’d asked. Making sure that no security cameras caught sight of him, Bruce found a ladder on the side of the building and climbed up to the top. The package was black and sleek, a metal casing that Lucius had designed years ago. A retinal scanner on the side verified Bruce and opened up to reveal his latest Batsuit. By the time he’d finished dressing, the sun was completely gone and the night sky had taken its place. It didn’t matter; Bruce Wayne had been left behind in the car and now Batman was ready for whatever lay inside the factory.

_It’s quiet. Heh, too quiet…_

Batman couldn’t help but agree. His footsteps on the metal walkway echoed throughout the entire facility. The smell of smeltery was in the air, but there were no workers or cleaning crew to be seen. There was one thing Batman was sure of though, he could feel eyes watching him. Well, maybe just one. 

If the facility hadn’t been so quiet, Batman may not have heard the scuffle of Deathstroke’s finger on his trigger, and the bullets may have done more than graze his cape. The Dark Knight leapt from the walkway onto the floor below to avoid another cascade of bullets. The one-eyed mercenary landed after him, tossing his gun to the side and pulling out his sword. 

“Well this reunion has been a long time coming,” said Deathstroke, rushing forward and swinging his sword for a killing blow.

Batman caught it with the blades on his glove. “What brings you to Gotham, Slade?” 

Deathstroke shrugged, pulling his blade back and swinging it around, catching Batman’s fist with his other hand. “I’m in town to settle some old scores. Thought I’d start by killing you, _Bruce_.”

Batman braced against the metahuman’s weapon, pummeling him and forcing Deathstroke back. “Is Cluemaster paying you to take a stroll down memory lane?”

“Among other things,” Deathstroke admitted, pulling a Batarang from Batman’s belt and slicing him with it.

Batman forced him back against the wall of one of the vats, trapping the mercenary’s sword and trying to lock down the man’s other hand. “Did he pay you to kill the workers here?”

“Certainly not,” said Deathstroke through gritted teeth, headbutting Batman and ripping free of his hold. “The cleaners are indisposed, to be sure, but they’ll live.”

_It_ ran up behind the villain and tried to get him in a chokehold, which only succeeded in _It_ pretending to be knocked aside.

_He got me! I’m down for the count._

Batman finally managed to get the sword trapped between the blades of both his gloves. He bent the metal and ripped it from Deathstroke’s hands. “Wanna tell me why you’re holding back?” asked the Dark Knight.

“It’s my old age,” the mercenary admitted. He pulled out two daggers and jumped at Batman, aiming for the eyes. “But that’s also why I got nostalgic and came to see you; we’ve got a long history, you and I.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to reflect on our shared history from your prison cell,” said Batman, the blow glancing off his cowl as he tackled Deathstroke to the ground. 

Deathstroke managed to stab Batman between the left shoulder blades as he wrestled with the Caped Crusader. “We’ve fought lots of times,” said Deathstroke, “but you never seem to be able to catch me.”

Batman snapped the mercenary’s wrist as he avoided the other knife, trying to keep him on the ground. “Well, I’m sure Warden Cash will be happy to have you. It’ll be a rare sight.”

Deathstroke kneed Batman in the stomach and flipped him over, trying to choke him out with his working hand. “I’ve made a career out of fulfilling my contracts.”

Batman punched the assassin in the ribs he knew Mockingbird had broken the night before, sending Deathstroke back, crying in pain. “Looks like you missed this one.” Batman snatched up the gun Slade had discarded earlier and brought it down heavily on the man’s head. Deathstroke collapsed to the floor, knocked unconscious. 

Breathing heavily, Batman stood up and pulled the dagger from his shoulder. He extracted some gauze and bandages and set to nursing his wound. After binding himself up and swallowing a couple of painkillers, Batman grabbed Deathstroke by the collar of his suit and set to dragging him outside. Before he started to move the man, Batman noticed something sticking out of his suit’s belt. It was another clue from Cluemaster.

_Well don’t leave me in suspense; what does it say?_

The clue read ‘You’ll have to move fast to send me to prison. Tomorrow night, you’ll find me where the bell rings a dozen.’ A slant rhyme at best. There were several cathedrals in Old Gotham that could fit the description. Batman would decipher it later. On his way out, he spotted the unconscious cleaning crew and made sure to untie them.

A light rain began to fall as Batman bound Deathstroke with industrially-reinforced cable ties. It was only once the assassin was secure that Batman began to really take in his surroundings. Ace Chemicals had been condemned for years before it was transformed into Ace Mills. In his early days as Batman, a fateful encounter had taken place here.

_We’ve got a history here, don’t we?_

For months now, Bruce had seen _It_ . First only as a fleeting shadow after a long day’s work; a peripheral image too quick to identify. Then it had escalated. _It_ had appeared as a reflection in the mirror, as shallow laughter echoing through an empty Batcave late at night. Then _It_ started talking. _It_ walked alongside Bruce throughout his day, taunting him and commenting on his surroundings. _It_ wasn’t real. _It_ was all in Bruce’s head. He’d seen his doctor, he’d done all the research. Nothing was doing this to him; it was just Bruce. As Batman, he’d stood and watched them cremate the body. He knew that _It_ was gone. So Bruce had done all he could to avoid acknowledging him. He didn’t think of _It_ by a name, he tried not to look at _It_ when it spoke. But it had been happening more and more frequently, and no matter what Bruce did, it didn’t change that he was seeing _the Joker_. A dead man who had haunted Bruce in life, and seemed to persist in death. 

_This is where I wound up in that vat of acid. This is where we met, Bats. The meet cute!_

As Bruce saw him, Joker’s suit was torn and burned. Parts of his corpse were blackened and dried blood coated the once-bright flower on his coat’s lapel. Part of his face had burned off, yet his smile still showed a full set of sickening teeth. And he was always laughing. _Always_ laughing. 

_Makes you think, doesn’t it? How far we’ve come. We’ve been together on this journey the whole way! Even dead, you can’t seem to get rid of me._

Joker doubled over in laughter, his cries echoing across the empty facility, yet no one heard him and the rain never touched him. 

Batman tapped his communicator. Barbara’s voice came over the channel. _“Go for Oracle.”_

“I’ve apprehended Deathstroke and acquired another clue,” Batman explained.

_“All in a day’s work, huh? Y’know, Cardinal and Spoiler are_ _not_ _gonna be happy to hear that. They were pretty peeved when Catwoman told them they were wasting their time on the stakeout,”_ said Oracle.

“Cluemaster’s all there's,” Batman offered. “I’m gonna wait with Deathstroke until the police arrive. Don’t need him slipping through our fingers again.”

_“Sounds good. We’ll see you back at the cave. Over and out._

Batman deactivated his communicator and went to stand by Deathstroke. Joker was already there, kicking the downed mercenary with a foot that couldn’t be felt.

_This guy won’t budge!_

The police arrived five minutes later. Commissioner Bullock cuffed the assassin himself. Batman stayed to case the area after the cops had left. An hour passed. Then two. He got calls on his communicator, but he ignored them. Batman perched himself on the edge of one of the mill’s roofs. Joker sat down next to him.

_What’s the matter, pal? Don’t feel like going home? Tired of all this wedding hullabaloo?_

The rain fell heavy now, coming down in dense droplets that splattered on the cold stone. 

_Don’t tell me? Is Batman having a midlife crisis? Hahahaha. Oh, this is grand. ‘Ol Batsy isn’t sure he’s ready for married life. Not ready to be a daddy again?_

Batman saw more than just Joker now. Images from his past: Andrea, garbed as the Phantasm, saying goodbye to him as she stepped into whirling smoke and flame; Jason, strung up against the Bat-Signal, bloody and petrified as Batman pulled the corpse down; his parents’ bodies, their blood covering his hands as a young Bruce tried desperately, hopelessly to stop the bleeding.

_In death, I know who you_ _really_ _are. Born Bruce Alan Wayne, a billionaire playboy who dresses up as a bat to scare crooks. I know better. All the misery that has fueled your life… the little Bruce who could be happy and have a family died in that alley, the same alley that Batman was born from. Bruce Wayne is just a mask you wear to make yourself and the people around you feel better. You’re like me, kid. This crazy persona is who you really are. Batman_ _is_ _misery._

Batman crouched there for another hour, the Joker’s laughter ringing in his ears. The rain covered his kevlar and spilled down his cape. It was only when he heard sirens in the distance that he got up and leapt from the ledge. It was the Neon Gang, and he tracked them to their warehouse in Gotham Village. He stayed in the neighborhood after that, hunting down the various members. Batman didn’t go home until the sun was on the horizon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was a fat chapter. Bigger than the first two combined. This won't be super typical, but sometimes chapters will have to cover a lot of ground. So yeah, Joker is Batman's Tyler Durdan. Lots of curious seeds being planted. If you're at all intrigued by this story, please leave a comment as it helps to motivate my fragile ego. I'll see you next week with a brand new chapter, this time from the perspective of Selina Kyle, soon to be Selina Wayne! Same bat time, same bat channel.


	4. Roots

> **East End, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Wednesday, June 15th, 2022, 12:14 EDT**

People were disappearing. Not just normal people either. Random ‘citizens’ vanishing without a trace was commonplace in the East End. You didn’t have to be happy about it, but it was a fact of life you couldn’t ignore. Those were the cards you were dealt if you were stuck in the shitiest part of the shitiest city in the world. No, the thing that put Selina on edge wasn’t that people were disappearing; it was the fact that dead people were disappearing.

The heat of the flaming morgue carried across the flimsy police barricade as firefighters tried to do what they could to quench the raging blaze. Selina stood amongst a crowd of onlookers as they gaped and pointed at the fiery sight. The East End was no stranger to arson. Sometimes the mob would torch your business if you couldn’t pay the protection racket; sometimes burglars would try and burn the evidence after they robbed a place; sometimes people just did it for fun. Whatever the reason, Selina knew that once the police were able to get inside, they wouldn’t find any bodies. This was the third morgue in the area to go up in flames in the past two weeks, and each time all the corpses had been stolen. The common theory seemed to be that someone didn’t want their dead men identified, and had gone about erasing the evidence in a clumsy, theatrical manner. But the strangeness didn’t stop there. Crematoriums and even cemeteries were being looted, and these weren’t grave robbers. Someone needed corpses.

Selina turned away from the fire and started walking down the block. The heat of the blaze was getting to her and she’d seen enough. She was supposed to have ‘escaped’ this place. Street trash turned high society gal turned Mrs. Wayne, her new life was uptown. But her roots were here, and she couldn’t help coming back every once and awhile. It was hard not to reflect on how much her life had changed. Her story certainly didn’t start out as a happy one. An unhappy child with an unhappy family living in Gotham’s shithole. Daddy hit Mommy too many times and she cut her wrists open. Not to be outdone, Daddy decided to race her to hell by looking for her at the bottom of a bottle. They were both dead by the time Selina was eight. She got put in Juvenile Hall and her little sister Maggie got sent into foster care. Bye-bye, sis. Selina got out of Juvenile Hall and resorted to pickpocketing. She got real good at it too. But after a few years, she had to resort to prostitution. Got good at that as well. It was more than just selling her body. Selina learned how to lie and cheat people. Customers, other hookers, even her pimp Stan. Whenever an asshole was stupid enough to take her back to his home instead of the local motel, he found himself robbed blind. And if that guy tracked her down and wanted words with her, he found himself needing a few stitches too. You had to know how to fight; you had to know because you were practically drowning in filth and every day you stood at death’s door. Every night, you didn’t know if you were gonna be grabbed off the street, or raped, or stabbed, or shot, or all of the above. And it could be anybody. The client? Sure, but also cops, the guys at the food stands, the person selling the tickets at the movie theater. Hell, even the nuns were up to no good. Back in the day, Selina had to lay out three or four nuns when they tried to strangle her. 

So when she saw a crazy guy in a bat costume beating the shit out of criminals and messing in their affairs, Selina was inspired. She had a habit of taking in stray cats, so she fashioned a leather catsuit and became Catwoman. Robbing museums and ripping off mob kingpins proved to be a more lucrative business venture than streetwalking. She got herself a few big scores, upgraded to a penthouse apartment, and entered socialite life. Selina even managed to catch the Batman’s attention on more than one occasion. For years after that, it was a life of crime, prison sentences, and falling for the world’s most ineligible bachelor. She’d even discovered that her real father was the guy who had been the undisputed king of the Gotham underworld: Carmine Falcone. Capitalizing on those connections, Selina became a mob princess in Sicily for a few months. But through it all, she began to love Bruce Wayne. She’d stopped stealing for him; she’d gone to prison for him; hell, she’d become something of a hero for him. Now she was marrying the love of her life, living in a 19th-century mansion, and carrying a bundle of joy. Not bad for the criminal orphan who had started out with nothing.

A real rags-to-riches story; she was a modern-day Cinderella. But deep down, Selina was still one of _these_ people. The downtrodden. The unwanted. Dead or alive, people kept vanishing because someone was taking advantage of her old neighborhood. No matter how far she came, Selina would never abide by that.

Now street fights were commonplace in the East End, so when she heard the sounds of two guys getting their asses kicked in the next alley, Selina prepared to walk past it and go about her day. It was only when she saw that it was her best friend Holly Robinson doing the ass-kicking that she stopped and admired the action.

Holly had come a long way too. Back when they’d first met, she’d been a scrappy thirteen-year-old trying to survive just like Selina was. The future cat burglar had taken the girl under her wing and defended her when she could. As they both grew older, Holly moved in with Selina and started helping her scout out heists. When Selina was in prison, Holly kept her assets out of the cops’ hands and made sure to feed the cats. Holly had pulled her out of the fire more times than Selina could count; she was the best friend a cat-themed villain could have. Now she was going to be Selina’s Maid of Honor.

“You just thumbed my eye, you crazy bitch!” yelled one of the punks as he stumbled backward. You didn’t live off of Gotham’s streets without learning to fight dirty, and Holly was living proof of that. 

“Dude, she fucked up my wrist,” said the other guy, retreating. “Screw this, man.”

Selina surveyed the scene in front of her. Holly was standing, fists raised, before two thugs who were now backing away from the woman. Behind her stood a little boy, a street kid, by the looks of him.

“We ever see you again, kid, and we’ll break your little legs!” warned one of the men as he hobbled away. 

Holly turned to the boy. She was holding an apple. “Never steal something from someone you can’t outrun, kid.” She took a bite out of the apple and tossed it to him. He gave her a look of gratitude and scampered off.

“Pretty generous,” said Selina, stepping into the alley. 

Holly smiled. “Maybe for a thief,” she said, hugging her friend. 

“Am I late?” asked Selina as they turned back onto the main road. 

“Nah. You’re right on time.”

* * *

> **East End, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Wednesday, June 15th, 2022, 12:38 EDT**

“You know, I’ve never been to a wedding,” said Holly as she sipped her smoothie. “Except for this one time when a few of my friends and I posed as the caterers and robbed the place. That doesn’t count though.”

“Bet you never thought you’d be my Maid of Honor,” said Selina.

“Please, I still don’t believe you’re getting married.” They turned a corner. “I mean, in a million years, I never would’ve thought you’d be gettin’ hitched. Especially to the goddamn Batman.”

Selina laughed. “If you’d told me ten years ago, I wouldn’t have believed it either.”

Holly scoffed. “If you’d told me _a_ year ago, I wouldn’t have believed it. I mean, you both have your issues; I guess you have to have issues to run around in spandex all night long. You? Kleptomaniac, sure; cat fetish, absolutely. But him? I guess I always thought ‘ol Brucey needed his misery.”

Selina frowned at that. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” Holly shrugged, “dead parents, lonely childhood, war on criminals. Vengeance stuff. Just seemed like he was already married to the cowl. I mean, didn’t you tell me that his first fiancé leaving him caused him to become Batman in the first place? Guess you guys tying the knot is a nice bookend.”

“It is poetic,” Selina admitted.

“Yeah, yeah, it rhymes and whatnot,” Holly stopped short. “We’re here.”

Selina blinked. They were standing on a random street corner. Then it hit her. “This is where Bruce and I first met.” The street had changed a lot in twenty-three years, but this was where she and Holly had lived and worked in their early days. 

Holly smiled. “Yup. He got into a fight with Stan. I stabbed him in the leg; thought he was Vice.”

“He threw you off, probably harder than he meant to. I jumped in and things got violent.”

“Cops arrived. They shot Bruce,” Holly shrugged. “It’ll make an interesting story for my speech.”

“Still working on that one, huh?” asked Selina. Holly only had ten days left to finish.

“I’m on draft three,” Holly admitted.

Selina looked around at her old neighborhood. “Well thank you for this stroll down memory lane.”

“Makes you think, doesn't it? We’ve come a long way.”

“Yes we have,” said Selina, quietly. Before Batman, before Catwoman, Bruce and Selina had just been trying to find their place in the world. The life that she had shared with Holly here was proof of that. 

Her reminiscing was interrupted by a shout from down the street. “You have to get out now!”

“What’s that all about?” asked Holly, nodding at the commotion.

Selina shrugged. “Let’s go find out.” 

As they walked over, the scene began to unfold clearly. An elderly, Hispanic woman was being yelled at by a guy in an expensive suit. Behind him was a red sports car. He kept pointing at the building next to them. Tenants looked out from their windows and watched the scene unfold below.

The man was getting heated. “I am the property manager! That means when I say you go, you go. Is there even a word for eviction in your language?” 

“Please, sir,” begged the woman. “¡El alquiler será puntual el mes que viene!” She grabbed the lapels of his coat with her frail hands.

“Bitch, get off me,” the man shoved her, causing her to fall to the ground.

“Hey!” Selina yelled, picking up her pace and moving towards him. Holly stopped her.

“Easy, tiger,” she said. “I’ll take this one.” Even three months in, Selina still had to fight back the urge to kick ass for the sake of the baby inside her.

“Who the fuck are you--” began the man, but he barely finished before Holly kneed him in the stomach. He fell over as Selina went to help the woman. 

“I see pricks like you every day, jackass. Don’t you think this ‘hood suffers enough on a regular basis? You can come back next month,” declared Holly, kicking him. The man wheezed.

Two younger women came rushing out to help their fellow tenant, leaving Selina free to watch the confrontation. She eyed the man’s sports car. The top was down and… had he left the keys in the ignition?

“This… is my… building,” gasped the man between breaths.

Holly scoffed. “I thought you were the property _manager_? So it’s your boss’ building. In any case, she doesn’t have anything for you. You can come back next month.”

As Holly walked away, the man called out after her. “W-wait!” He was scrambling around on the ground for something. “Where’s my watch?”

The watch gleamed on Holly’s wrist as she hopped into the passenger seat. Selina was already revving the engine of the man’s car. “You think this baby can do two-hundred?” she asked.

The man’s face went white as he saw them. He tried to stand. “No-no-no-no-no. Wait!”

“Best not to push it,” said Holly. She turned back to the man as they pulled away. “Don’t worry! A quick jog and you’ll be uptown in no time!”

Selina watched the man collapse in the rearview mirror as he tried to run after them, shouting obscenities as he clutched his stomach. “This really is a stroll down memory lane. This is _exactly_ like old times.”

* * *

> **Route 9, NJ  
>  Wednesday, June 15th, 2022, 12:58 EDT**

“Hey, did you hear that another morgue just went up in flames?” asked Holly as they sped down the highway. 

“I was there,” said Selina. “The third one this month.”

“One morgue, someone’s covering something up. Two morgues, that’s coincidence. But three morgues? That’s where I draw the line in weirdness. I mean burning shit is one thing, but stealing all the bodies? Who needs _that_ many corpses. Scratch that, who needs corpses period?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Selina. It had been bothering her for weeks now. 

Holly shook her head. “As if the East End doesn’t get enough shit. Now there are no loved ones to bury, and the people that _were_ buried are getting dug up too. It’s terrible.”

Selina sighed. “And here I thought the crazy died with Joker.”

“I wish.”

They raced up the private Kane County road towards Wayne Manor, taking advantage of the car’s speed. Selina pulled into the driveway, bringing the sports car to a skidding stop on the gravel. She got out, leaving the door open for Holly to take over. She tossed Selina the property manager’s watch as she got in.

“Souvenir?” asked Selina. 

“Something like that,” said Holly.

“What are you gonna do with the car?”

“Oh, wrap it around a tree somewhere,” Holly admitted. “Gonna see how fast this baby can really go; leave it for that asshole to find.”

Selina waved as she walked away. “Say hi to the girls for me.”

“Will do. See you soon,” and she took off.

Selina stopped and admired the mansion before her. She had lived in _and_ broken into some very nice houses in her lifetime, but she never could’ve seen herself living in one. She was happy to call it home.

* * *

> **Kane County, NJ  
>  Wednesday, June 15th, 2022, 18:03 EDT**

Damian was sitting on the edge of the terrace, scratching his cat Alfred under the chin. The kid practically wouldn’t call _any_ human by their first name, that was one of his charms. She was “Kyle” (he sure wasn’t trying to send any messages there) just as Alfred was “Pennyworth,” yet when he named the cat after his butler he called the cat by Alfred’s first name. So the cat was “Alfred” but the real Alfred was “Pennyworth.” She was still working out Damian’s quirks. 

“I liked your breakfast,” Selina told him, if not entirely truthfully, as she sat down.

“Tt. Mar’i messed up the recipe,” Damian said. As much as he complained about his cousin, Damian had developed _something_ close to friendship with Mar’i. She was the only person Selina knew of that Damian called by their first name. “I’ll admit that my culinary skills are lacking in several key areas. Pennyworth has been teaching me the ropes.”

“Well, I doubt I could’ve done any better,” said Selina, somewhat surprised by the kid’s humility, if you could call it that. 

“No, I doubt you could have,” said Damian, ever the charmer.

Of all Bruce’s children, Damian’s story was perhaps the most interesting. He wasn’t an orphan and he wasn’t adopted. He was Bruce’s biological son, and boy did he let you know it. He was the product of a troubled romance between Bruce and Talia al Ghul, the daughter of Ra’s al Ghul. Her family led the League of Shadows, the largest terrorist organization in the world. Ra’s had bathed in ancient sites called Lazarus Pits to rejuvenate himself and increase his lifespan. He’d walked the Earth for six-hundred years, and led the Shadows for most of that time. Damian had been raised with the Shadows, isolated from the rest of the world, to take over that legacy. It had made him a little evil, and more than a little full of himself. When Bruce discovered the child’s existence following the takedown of the Shadows, he took the child in and did his best to channel the boy’s skills towards justice. In the three years since Damian had been in Bruce’s care, he’d gone from psychopathic little ninja to semi-psychopathic little Robin. He wasn’t the friendly type, and he didn’t trust people easily. Especially Selina.

“So… how are you feeling about the wedding?” asked Selina, cautiously. 

“How am I feeling?” questioned Damian exasperatedly. “It’s your union, not mine. I am ambivalent.”

“Ambivalent, huh?” said Selina skeptically. “Your dad’s marrying a formal criminal--someone who isn’t _your_ mom--and you’re ambivalent?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Tt. I am well aware of my father’s various romantic escapades. I know you two have a history. The announcement of your marriage did not surprise me.”

“Sure,” said Selina. “But you don’t have any feelings about it?”

“You are wedding my father. I will accept you in my home for that reason and I will care for my half-sister, but there is no relation between us. I do not have to feel anything. You are my father’s business, not mine,” growled Damian.

Yeah, he was definitely her favorite. “Well, I’m glad to hear your viewpoint, Damian. Over time, maybe we can continue to have these talks? Maybe, one day, you’ll even start to trust--” 

“You have my respect, _Kyle_ , but you do not have my trust.” Damian rose and walked to the doorway. Alfred--the cat--stopped to rub his face against Selina’s knee before he went to follow. Damian stopped short and turned back to her. “Don’t hurt my father,” he warned, then slipped inside.

Selina lay back against the terrace as she let out a long sigh. As far as talks between her and her soon-to-be-stepson went, they’d had worse. 

She felt her phone buzz. She pulled it out and saw that it was Bruce calling. She answered. _“Hey. I’m not gonna make it to dinner tonight,”_ Bruce said apologetically.

Selina sat up. It wasn’t _that_ uncommon for Bruce to miss dinner. He had a busy schedule after all. “Uh, that’s fine,” she replied. “I’m all for ditching the high society stuff, but… what’s up? The Mayor keeping you?”

_“No. I found out that Deathstroke is gonna be making his stand at a different Steel Mill. I’m on my way now to take him out now.”_

Selina knew enough about Slade Wilson to know that the sooner he was off the streets, the safer everyone would be. “Want me to send the kids to help?” she asked. “I hear Cassandra almost got him last time.”

_“Gonna keep this between Slade and me,”_ Bruce said firmly. She got the message.

“I’ll keep it on the down-low then.” Selina cleared her throat. “Just try not to die. We just spent all this money on a wedding after all.”

_“I’ll do my best,”_ said Bruce, his voice already growing distant. Selina knew enough about her fiancé to tell when he was ready to hang up a call. Bruce wasn’t one for lengthy phone chats.

“Alright,” Selina laughed. “Love you--” but he had already hung up. She frowned. Bruce had been distant all day. She hoped defeating Deathstroke would be enough to get him out of his brooding.

* * *

> **Kane County, NJ  
>  Wednesday, June 15th, 2022, 23:36 EDT**

After a long day, Selina finally lay down in bed. She was joined by a Siamese and a British Shorthair. Her presence at the manor meant a whole lot of strays, and some of them even found their way inside, much to Alfred’s chagrin. After a nice meal and a game of cards with Dick, Babs, Damian, Mar’i, and Alfred, she was ready to settle in for the night. 

Bruce still wasn’t home. He’d called in Deathstroke’s defeat earlier, but had stayed out to patrol. Late nights were a trademark of the Batman business, but… they’d made an agreement that Bruce would start coming home earlier and leave the _late_ crime fighting to his colorful cast of assistant vigilantes. He must have stumbled onto something important. 

She tossed and turned. The day’s stroll down memory lane had unsettled her. Selina wasn’t happy with what was going down in the East End, nor some of the feelings she’d stirred up. Doubt plagued her. Why had she stolen that car? I mean, the watch was enough, the guy got the message. What if the police identified her? Unlikely, sure, but Selina was still on parole. It would certainly put a damper on the wedding if she got arrested. 

She stood up abruptly, scratching the Siamese under the chin as he scampered off her. She walked over to her nightstand where she’d left the watch. It seemed so pointless now. Selina buried it in the bottom drawer and slammed it shut. 

It was heavily raining outside, sprinkling off the roof and splashing onto the ground. Despite the weather, Selina opened the sliding door and stepped out onto the balcony. She sighed. Selina was only three months along, but she could already feel the baby weighing on her. It was constricting. She needed to prowl the rooftops and be able to punch asshole landlords when they hit defenseless women. Selina didn’t like feeling powerless.

As the rain ran down her back, she couldn’t help but feel trapped in the shadow of the manor. It was her home, but… sometimes she felt that it was bearing down on her. Was she happy? This was the fairytale life her younger self had always wanted, yet as the wedding day drew closer all the doubts came flooding into her head. 

She was living the high society life, but her roots were still back in the East End. At her core, she was still the thief; the cheat; the villain. Could she be a wife? A mother? A hero? On the surface, Selina felt happier than she ever had, but deep down, she went to bed with the same question every night.

_What the hell am I doing?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, back to normal length. There are a LOT of seeds being planted here and arcs being started, but hey, we've now met a third of our POVs. Progress. If you're at all interested in this story, please leave a comment as it helps to motivate my fragile ego. I'll see you next week with a brand new chapter, this time from the perspective of Stephanie Brown as she tracks down her villainous father, the terrifying Cluemaster! Same bat time, same bat channel.


	5. Date Night

> **Old Gotham, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Thursday, June 16th, 2022, 13:29 EDT**

“My dad never took me to church,” said Stephanie as she looked through Tim’s notes. “Wonder why he’d be hiding in one.”

“The bell tower thing probably gives him an easy clue. He didn’t seem the most creative with those,” said Harper, finishing her food. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Stephanie had just received Tim’s analysis of all the possible locations Cluemaster could be hiding in. In a few hours, they’d know for sure.

“I don’t understand why Cluemaster would be working with Deathstroke,” said Cass as she cleared her plate. “I didn’t think Slade would be open to working with your father.”

“He’s probably working for the zeroes on the check my dad gave him,” suggested Steph, “though as to how my dad came by that money remains a mystery.”

“Well, ‘ol Slade isn’t like to fess up. We spent half the night pulling the graveyard shift and he didn’t give us so much as a peep,” said Harper with a sigh. After Steph and Tim had finished the first watch, Harper and Cass had guarded Deathstroke in his temporary holding cell for six hours before Dick and Damian came to relieve them. They’d move the assassin to Arkham tomorrow night, but they had to get it ready first. 

Steph had dropped by Cass and Harper’s apartment for a quick lunch and to pick up her last few boxes. As of tonight, she’d be officially moved in with Tim. Steph was really only swapping out one Wayne Foundation penthouse for another--but hey--she wasn’t complaining. 

Cass looked thoughtful. “I guess we’ve all had lacking fathers.”

“Oh, big time,” said Harper, holding up three fingers. “Alcoholic, assassin,” she nodded at Stephanie, “joke.”

“My dad can’t even get the supervillain thing right. I mean he’s been doing this for nine years; you’d think he’d at least get a little more creative.”

Cass raised her glass. “To asshole dads.” _Clink_.

“And there was a time when you couldn’t speak English,” said Harper, shaking her head in amusement. “With that, you sound as American as the rest of us.”

Smiling, Stephanie stood. “Well, ladies, as fun as this has been, I’ve gotta run my last work appointment.”

Harper saluted her. “Go save the kids!”

“I’ll do my best,” said Steph. “Hopefully I’ll have my dad collared by the next time we speak.”

“At least _he_ won’t require twenty-four-hour surveillance.”

* * *

> **Sprang Bridge, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Thursday, June 16th, 2022, 13:54 EDT**

Stephanie worked as an outreach liaison for the Wayne Foundation. She planned to eventually get her Master’s and move more into social work, but as of now, she spent her days meeting with families who got money from the Foundation. She’d had two meetings that morning, which was why Cass and Harper had to get stuck on Deathstroke duty. Stephanie was currently en route to her last appointment of the day, her quarterly meeting with the Tan family. But unlike the other regular meetings she had, this was completely unrelated to her job. This was personal, and she’d been dreading it for weeks.

Her daughter had been born on May 7th, 2017. It had been two weeks shy of her high school graduation. Yeah, it had been a fun senior year. Stephanie was still seventeen at the time, and there had been no question about giving the baby up for adoption. Still, she couldn’t just throw her little girl into the arms of fate and had secretly involved herself in every part of the adoption process. She made sure that her daughter wound up with good, honest people. Steph remembered the first time she had met Superman. She’d called him the greatest hero the world had ever seen, and he’d responded: “No, it was my ma and pa.” They’d raised the most powerful being alive into a true icon of heroism. Having the right environment to grow up in was everything. Steph knew that better than most.

Charles and Brie Tan were kind-hearted people. Charles was an aspiring architect. He took the train to work every day and was always home by five to eat with his family. Brie was a nurse, just like Steph’s mother. She mostly worked nights and was well-respected among her peers at the Elliot Memorial Hospital. They were nice; their money was clean; the stink of Gotham had never broken them. The couple couldn’t have any children of their own, and so they had adopted Steph’s daughter. They’d named her Dana.

The Tan family had no idea that their Foundation liaison was the biological mother of their child. No one at the company was aware of these appointments either. The money came under the guise of the Wayne Foundation, but Steph wired it separately. The only people who knew about Steph’s visits to check in on Dana were her boyfriend Tim, who she confided in, and probably Bruce since he knew everything (though she wasn’t sure). It wasn’t just superstition that made her think Batman was aware of the Tan family. The big topic of discussion for today’s meeting would be Charles’ new job. He’d been given the big shot as one of the architects working on Wayne Enterprises’ New Gotham initiative. Quite the coincidence, especially since there were no coincidences with Batman. 

Brie came out to greet Stephanie as she pulled into the Tan family’s driveway. They lived in Burnside, a suburban neighborhood on the Gotham mainland, outside of the city. “Hi, Stephanie!” said the mother as she walked down the driveway to meet her.

“Hi, Brie! How’s everyone doing?” Steph asked as she got out.

“Everyone’s good. Dana’s playing inside.”

“Wonderful.”

* * *

> **Burnside, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Thursday, June 16th, 2022, 14:06 EDT**

“Can I get you anything?” asked Brie as Steph sat down on the couch. 

“No, I’m good, thanks.” Steph looked over at Dana. She was playing with her toys. “Hi, Dana. It’s nice to see you again.”

Dana smiled shyly and waved. “Hello.” She went back to playing. 

“I think I might have missed a certain someone’s birthday since we last spoke. Is that right?” asked Stephanie. In reality, she was very sure. She’d spent the day as well as the week preceding and following it reflecting on her own past. “How many years old are you now?”

“Five,” said Dana, clearly proud of herself.

“Wow,” said Steph. “You’ve gotten so big.” She’d been seeing the Tan family since she was twenty and interning at the Foundation. She may have tip-toed around the subject of her actual age and experience.

“Am I late?” asked Charles Tan as he emerged from the stairs. 

“Not at all, Charlie,” said Steph, smiling. “Congratulations on the new job.”

“Thank you,” he said, sitting down in the chair across from her.

Brie patted her husband’s hand. “We’re all very excited.”

“I guess that brings us to the matter at hand,” said Charlie to Stephanie as he nodded at her collection of files.

“Yes, well, let’s jump right in.” Steph started laying out her documents across the coffee table. “Charlie’s new job and increased annual salary will disqualify you guys from the Wayne Foundation’s Family Funding program. Sadly, this seems like it’ll be our last meeting.” That was exactly what Stephanie had been dreading all day. Even though she’d set up the Tan family’s whole sponsorship separate from the real Foundation, they were technically now succeeding the limits of the actual program. Even though it had only been a few times a year, Steph had enjoyed getting to see her daughter up-close every once and while. Now that was ending.

Brie looked at her husband carefully. “I guess the biggest question we had about this whole process was how it was going to affect Dana’s scholarsh--”

“It won’t,” said Steph quickly. “Your daughter still qualifies for the Gifted program, and that’s not going to change. The Wayne Foundation will happily fund her enrollment at Hilltop for K-5 and Brentwood for 6-12.” 

“Thank you,” said Brie with relief.

“Thank yourselves. You’ve raised a bright kid,” said Stephanie, nodding at Dana. _She sure as hell didn’t get it from me._

They talked finer details after that, updating information and signing a few papers. Steph chatted with Dana a bit and made small talk with the parents as she packed up her things.

“So what’s been going on with you?” Brie asked. “Besides the job, I mean.”

Stephanie smiled. “I’ve just moved in with my boyfriend actually, so I'm still adjusting to that.”

“Exciting! How long have you two been together?”

“Uh--eight years,” said Steph, surprising herself with how long it had been.

“Wow,” Brie said. “Long time. I still remember when I got hitched to his oaf,” she nodded to her husband.

“Worst mistake of her life,” called Charlie as he worked in the kitchen.

Stephanie chuckled as she packed the last of her files away. “Well, it’s been nice seeing guys but I’ve gotta get going.”

“You’re welcome to stay for dinner, Stephanie,” offered Charlie as he emerged.

“Thank you, but I’m already meeting someone.”

“Hot date with the new roommate?” asked Brie.

“Him and my dad actually, so it’ll be a regular gettogether,” said Steph truthfully.

“Well, thank _you_ , Stephanie, for all the work that you’ve done for us over these past couple of years,” said Brie, smiling.

“We can’t thank you enough,” agreed Charlie.

“It was my pleasure,” said Steph as she headed for the door. “I’ll keep in touch, and congrats again, Charlie. I’ll keep my eyes on the skyline!” She waved as she left.

Stephanie took one last glance at Dana through the window before she headed for her car. She hadn’t been lying, though. She was long overdue for a meeting with dear old Dad.

* * *

> **Diamond District, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Thursday, June 16th, 2022, 21:58 EDT**

“Hey, babe. How was work?” asked Tim as he dodged a ten-inch knife. Steph had suited up in her eggplant-colored costume to join him on patrol as they made their way for Cluemaster.

“It was good,” she said automatically. Steph grabbed one of the thugs and flung him against the brick wall. “Got some appointments out of the way and of course--”

“The big one,” said Tim. 

“Yeah.” One of the criminals pulled out a gun, but Stephanie threw a Batarang into the barrel as he pulled the trigger. The gun exploded, breaking the thug’s hand. 

“Did it go okay?” Tim asked, elbowing the last guy in the ribs and knocking his head against the wall. 

“Yeah,” she said again as she stretched. “I mean, it’s not ideal, but I think it’s for the best.”

Tim began rounding up the goons. “You’ll still get to keep tabs on her, you’re just--”

“Stepping away,” Steph agreed as she helped him.

Tim began cuffing the thugs to the chain-link gate of the alley. “I think that’s healthy,” he said smiling. 

She turned to him. “I think so too.” She pulled out her grapple gun and nodded to the rooftops. “So, big reveal time. Which church is my dad holding up in?”

“The Westbank Cathedral. It’s about four miles north of here,” he said. “If we only make a few pit stops along the way, we should be back home in time for a late dinner.”

“Waffles?” Steph asked hopefully.

Tim sighed and let his grapple line fire into the night. “I don’t pretend to understand you.”

* * *

> **Financial District, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Thursday, June 16th, 2022, 22:17 EDT**

“No way,” said Steph as she spotted the activity below. “Check it out.”

“Are… are they robbing a bank?” asked Tim in disbelief as he touched down with Steph on the rooftop across from Gotham First National.

“I mean _when_ do we get to stop a bank robbery anymore?”

“It’s been like four years for me.”

“Seems like a golden opportunity,” said Steph as she eyed the bank windows. Multiple robbers could be seen inside. 

“Let’s get a closer look, shall we?” said Tim as he pulled a small drone from his belt. It was equipped with high-end camera feed that beamed directly to their masks. He called it the Toy Wonder. Tim flew it over to the window. “Looks like five guys inside with eleven hostages. Plus two more guys on lookout.”

“Don’t forget the one on getaway,” Steph noted, eyeing the driver outside. “Heist is moving too quickly to go in clean and stealthy. We’re gonna have to make some noise.:

“Hostages are the priority.” Tim turned off the drone feed. “Let’s move in.”

They each aimed their grapple gun above the bank window, reflexively moving a smoke bomb into their other hand. Perfectly in sync, they swung across the empty street and broke straight through the glass, dropping their smoke pellets as they let go and landed on the ground. Steph’s mask already had built-in gas protection since it covered her mouth and nose, so she immediately moved to cover the hostages. Two guys were standing directly over the civilians, and she quickly swept both of them off their feet with a low kick, knocking them to the ground. 

Tim, having slipped his own gas mask on, moved to take out the thugs emptying the registers. He swept his bo staff across the first man’s head, smacking him against the counter. The other robber pulled out his own weapon, but Tim grabbed it and pulled the man forward, breaking his forearm.

The two thugs who had been on lookout came bursting in, bewildered by the chaos, as the final man came charging at the heroes with an assault weapon. “Let’s trade!” shouted Stephanie. Tim slid in behind her to cover the hostages. With one click of his bo staff, the small, circular panels of the weapon opened up to form a ballistic shield. It made him more apt to cover the civilians from gunfire as Stephanie flung a Batarang at the man. While he stumbled, she turned on the two lookouts and pulled out her Escrima sticks.

“Ahh shit, it’s that new Bluebird chick,” said one of the criminals as they pulled out their weapons. 

Steph looked down at her purple costume. “You just managed to puzzle that one out, did ‘ya?” She swung her escrima sticks at their hands, fracturing them and causing their weapons to drop. She kicked one in the stomach while she fed the other her left hook. She checked behind her to make sure Tim had taken down the other man; he had. Steph turned back and finished off hers.

“All seven are down and the hostages are secure,” she announced as she knocked out the last guy. The sound of screeching tires behind her reminded her otherwise. 

“Getaway, remember?” said Tim as he pointed to the escaping van. 

“Oh, shut up and do your thing,” said Steph, stepping out into the night air.

Tim whistled and his drone moved forward in attention. He pointed to the escaping vehicle. “Disable that van.” The Toy Wonder whizzed through the night air like a bat out of hell (pun intended). It caught up with the van and attached itself to the underside of the vehicle. There was a loud sputtering sound as the engine clicked off and the car came to a halt at the end of the block.

“What the shit?!” the thug called, confused.

“Stun,” said Tim calmly. 

The thug yelped as the drone flew out and electrocuted the criminal.

Stephanie shook her head as the hostages from the bank came running out of the building. “I shudder to think what you and the lab boys come up with next.”

“Honestly, same.”

Stephanie checked her watch. It was past ten. “Authorities will be here in no time. What do we say we get back to the task at hand?”

“Okay.” Tim checked the interface on his glove. “Hey, look at that. Only a mile away.”

* * *

> **Old Gotham, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Thursday, June 16th, 2022, 22:42 EDT**

“Now _this_ is a proper gothic cathedral,” said Tim as they dropped down in front of the Westbank church. The building was old, probably 19th century. It had been abandoned years ago and never demolished. As they walked through the old worship hall, the old floors creaked and cracked below them. Paint was peeling off the ceiling and the stone wall in the courtyard was covered with moss.

As they reached the bell tower, which was connected to the main building but only accessible through the outside, the heroes stopped short. “We think he’s up there?” asked Steph.

“No sign of him anywhere else,” replied Tim. He turned to her. “You ready?”

Steph stretched her fingers. “Yeah, I’m ready. I’ve already concluded one chapter of my life today, it’s about time I put dear old Dad away.”

“Hey, that rhyme was sick. You clearly are your father’s daught--”

“Tim, I swear to god--”

“Come now, Spoiler, there’s no time to waste.”

They stepped through the crumbled stone wall and looked up at the half-broken staircase. Not trusting it, they aimed their grapple guns for the ledge at the top and pulled themselves up the tower, making sure to avoid the bell. As they clambered onto the roof, Steph saw a figure standing at the edge, looking out at the city.

“Cluemaster,” she said. “Long time no see.”

Her father turned to her with an amused expression on his face. “Hello, daughter. I see you’ve brought Mr. Drake with you.”

Tim waved. “Hey, Riddler.” He snapped his fingers and cursed. “Wait, no, that’s the other guy,”

“That’s clever,” said Cluemaster, rolling his eyes.

“About as clever as your clue. I mean goddamn, man. ‘Prison’ and ‘dozen’ for a rhyme? How low are your standards?” asked Tim.

“What’s the game plan, Dad? Why and how did you hire Deathstroke?” questioned Stephanie, moving past the men’s banter. She pulled out a Batarang, preparing for any sudden moves.

“That is a truly fascinating story. I’ll have to tell you someday.” The villain took one step towards them.

“You sit tight right there, buddy. We’re headed your way,” said Tim.

But as they stepped towards Cluemaster to collar her father, Stephanie felt something pierce the side of her neck. She collapsed, grasping for the dart. How had it gotten through her reinforced costume so easily? She tried to throw her Batarang at Cluemaster, but it missed as she keeled over. Tim was right there next to her. He held up his dart. “This is League,” he said, barely more than a whisper as he began to lose consciousness.

She looked to her father. “What did you do?” she groaned.

As she rolled over, fighting to stay awake, she saw a figure walking in from the shadows. Dark clothes, white hair, a scar. _Oh shit_.

“My, my. What have we caught today?” asked David Cain as he stood over them. 

Stephanie tried to say something, reach for a weapon, call for help--but it was no use. She had already slipped away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steph and Tim in the clutches of the Cluemaster! What an intense cliffhanger. But that resolution will have to wait. After all, the Batfamily doesn’t even know they’re missing yet! Next week we’ll take a look inside the head of one of my favorite characters: Jason Todd. The Robin who died, was brought back to life kicking and screaming, killed a bunch of people, and thinks Batman’s full of shit. A night out on the town for ‘ol Jay is sure to be interesting. If this story tickles your fancy in any way, please leave a comment as it helps to motivate my fragile ego. I’ll see you next week; same bat time, same bat channel.


	6. Dead Man Walking

> **Park Row, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Thursday, June 16th, 2022, 15:13 EDT**

Park Row was one of Gotham’s newest neighborhoods, relatively speaking, yet it still had a history. A violent, bloody history that seeped into the cracks and crevices of the newest district. Sixty years ago, Park Row had been built as a shining symbol of prosperity to lead Gotham into the modern age. That hadn’t panned out. 

Like the rest of the charming city, Park Row had fallen to shabbiness and disrepair. What was once a promising cafe and art district became the home of Gotham’s major drug trades, as well as other various criminal activities. One alley behind the Monarch Theatre became so famous for its unsavory sort that people began calling it ‘Crime Alley’. That’s where Jason had made his home in his earlier years.

Jason Todd had been born to two troubled drug addicts, and he barely survived to a year old without his parents trying to sell him off for a quick fix. There’d been some close calls, or so he was told. His mother had died of an overdose and his father had gone swimming at the bottom of Gotham Harbor when he failed to pay off his debts to the Maroni family. By age eight, Jason had been on his own. 

Crime Alley was an ideal place for an orphan. No cops were gonna mess with you and the place was pretty infamous after Thomas and Martha Wayne got gunned down there in ‘81. The name wasn’t a gimmick either; business was always booming. Jason had made his money by stealing car parts and selling them to buyers who frequented the area.

He remembered the experience vividly. It had been a hot summer night on June 26th, 2009, when Jason was thirteen years old, that he found the biggest fish he was ever going to catch. He’d seen the Batman before. After the Justice League’s debut in 2003, Gotham’s urban legend turned from fiction to fact, and sightings of the Dark Knight became more frequent. Jason had witnessed the hero stopping Two-Face once, but he’d never expected to find the Batman in the little alley he called home.

Jason had been sleeping on a fire escape when he heard the roar of an engine below, louder than anything he’d ever heard on a car before. He’d looked below and had been astonished to find the Batmobile, with the Dark Knight himself emerging from the driver’s seat and walking down the alley. Oddly, the vigilante had no weapon in hand, but a pair of roses. He’d simply placed them on the ground at the end of Crime Alley and stayed there, silently reflecting on something.

After a few minutes, gunshots came from the next alley over, and Batman had raced away to stop them, leaving his car behind. Sensing the golden opportunity, Jason had hurriedly climbed down the fire escape, tire iron in hand, and got to work on robbing the Batmobile of its tires. He had only just started to picture the thousands of dollars he’d soon be rolling in when he’d felt a tap on his shoulder. He’d turned around to find Batman staring down at him. Jason had heard enough stories from the petty crooks who frequented the neighborhood about the Dark Knight breaking bones and generally beating the shit out of people, so the boy had simply dropped his iron and waited for the hits to come.

Much to Jason’s relief, the Batman had simply asked him one question. “Are you hungry?”

Instead of getting beat on, Jason got a ride in the Batmobile. The Dark Knight picked up food and bought the boy the best meal he’d ever had. Imagine that. The creature of the night, pulling into a Big Belly Burger drive-thru line. Jason had been more focused on the food than anything else but had taken notice of the quiet in the car. Batman hadn’t said a word.

It had been Jason who’d broken the silence. “So what’s the deal? Helping Gotham one street kid at a time?” The experience had been so surreal, but the absurdity of it eventually caught up to him.

Batman remained stone-faced. “Helping whoever I can; stopping those who do more harm than good.”

“You don’t know me.” Jason had been thirteen. “I could be just as crazy evil as the Joker and you wouldn’t know it.”

That’s when Batman had looked at him. “I’d know.”

They pulled up suddenly at a curb. Jason had looked around. They’d still been in Park Row, but they were a few blocks away from Crime Alley. “What’s this?” he’d asked.

The Dark Knight pointed to the structure on the right. “That is the Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic. There’s a doctor there named Leslie Thompkins, she’s the one who runs the facility. The clinic offers a practice accessible to low-income Gothamites. It’s the place to go if you need yourself patched up. If you’re looking for more than that, there’s always work, food, and a bed for those who want to build a life for themselves.”

Jason had nodded like he cared as he finished his curly fries. There were lots of places in Gotham where people tried to help those in need, but there was often a catch. Plus, it was hard to rely on someone that much. Jason had learned early on that the only person in the world he could count on was himself. “I’ll check out,” he’d said, getting out of the car.

As Jason turned to walk towards the clinic, already planning on bailing as soon as the Batmobile vanished from sight, Batman had called after him. “What’s your name?”

One of the number one rules of surviving on the streets was keeping your anonymity. Giving out your name was the last thing you wanted to do. “It’s Jason,” he’d said honestly, surprising himself.

Batman regarded him silently from the driver’s seat. Even through the white lenses of the cowl, Jason could feel the vigilante’s eyes pouring into him. “There’s darkness in you, Jason, but there’s good, too. The only person who can save you is yourself.” With that, the Dark Knight closed the side door, fired the engine, and sped away into the night.

Once the Batmobile had disappeared around the corner, Jason had curved right and started walking back towards the fire escape he called home. After fifty feet, he stopped. To this day, Jason wasn’t sure why he did it. Maybe he was scared; maybe he was tired; maybe he knew that he was going to die horribly in his alley one day and no one was going to care. Whatever the reason, Jason turned around and walked back to the clinic.

He’d helped Thompkins around the clinic for a few weeks while she looked for a more fitting place for the boy in social services. But one night, a trio of junkies broke into the practice and tried to rob them blind. Jason was prepared to bail and keep out of trouble, but he could tell the situation was escalating to one of the junkies pulling the trigger. Ever full of pent-up anger, he’d jumped in and smacked the would-be robbers around. Batman had arrived to find the junkies dispatched and Jason standing over them triumphantly. After that, someone had taken an interest in adopting him: Bruce Wayne.

Street trash to billionaire playboy’s son in a matter of weeks was a striking transition for Jason. He’d later learn that his encounters with Batman had come only three months after Batgirl had been shot and paralyzed from the waist down, which had resulted in an angry Robin bailing on his mentor and moving to California. The Dark Knight had been keen to fill the void of his son’s departure with a new protégé. Once Jason had made the connection between his new dad and Batman, he’d started training to become the next Boy Wonder.

That hadn’t panned out too well. 

Regardless, almost fourteen years since that fateful night in Crime Alley, Jason found himself in his old stomping ground once more. He’d bought the rundown apartment in the adjacent building, though not under his real name. After all, Jason Todd was dead.

He heard the creak of the door behind him that signified Scarlet’s return. “Welcome home,” said Jason, raising his beer as he turned and looked at her.

She had a blank expression on her face. “Why are you sitting on fire escape? You look like a fucking Засранец,” said Scarlet in her thick Russian accent.

“I don’t pretend to know what that means, but I’ll take it as a compliment.” He finished his drink, returning his gaze to the alley he’d once called home.

“It means shitass, and it is what you look like, sitting out there like lost puppy,” said Scarlet charmingly.

“I’m remembering.”

She shook her head. “Sounds awful.”

“How was school?” asked Jason, changing the subject.

“Bad,” replied Scarlet.

“Bad?” he asked. “You end on Monday, how bad could it be?”

“Niet,” she said, shaking her head. “School was fine; the walk home brought bad news.”

Jason’s face darkened. “Which corner?” he asked.

“Dean Avenue and Crescent Street, near Grant Park. The man is not from here.”

“He’s pushing in on my turf,” said Jason, stepping inside as he closed the window behind him.

“ _Our_ turf.”

“Sure,” he said, rolling his eyes. “How was his business?”

Scarlet sighed. “There were many buyer, several of them children.”

Jason’s nostrils flared as he slipped on his coat. “Fancy an afternoon stroll?”

“Try not to get blood on my shoes this time. The kids at school ask questions, you know.”

* * *

> **Park Row, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Thursday, June 16th, 2022, 15:30 EDT**

The dealer was still standing on the corner where Scarlet had said he would be. He was 5’10”; couldn’t weigh more than one-eighty. Jason gave Scarlet a look, telling his sidekick to stay back. He walked over to the man, trying to put on the friendliest expression he could muster.

“Hey, man,” greeted Jason, standing next to the man. “You got something for me?”

The man took a long draw of his cigarette, eying the would-be customer. “I ain’t got nothing for fuzz.”

Jason laughed. “I’m wounded, pal. I ain’t police.”

The man rolled his eyes. “I could smell pig a mile away.” 

“Whatever, man,” Jason said, sighing. “Hey, you heard of the Red Hood before?”

The dealer blinked in confusion. “Yeah…”

“You know what his story is?” Before the man could respond, Jason continued. “Well, some say that it’s just a mask worn by a bunch of criminals. There’s also stories going around that it’s an alias of the Joker. And some will even tell you that the Red Hood is a former Robin who died and came back to life, now a little crazier, and a whole lot meaner.” He leaned in close to the man. “But you know what they all agree on? The Red Hood _hates_ drug dealers, so much that he ran them all out of Park Row and claimed the neighborhood for his own.”

The man was alarmed now. “Get the fuck outta here, dude. I don’t care about your stories.”

Jason frowned, but nodded and raised his hands in agreement. “Sure, sure.” He stopped. “One thing first. You see that alley back there?”

The man looked behind him at the alley. “Yeah, so?”

“There’s something really cool in there, come check it out.”

“Man, I told you to scram,” the dealer pulled his shirt up, reaching for his gun. Jason didn’t give him the chance. He punched the man hard in the stomach, pulling the dealer into a chokehold as he recoiled and dragging him into the alley. 

Jason forced the man against the wall, trapping his arm and forcing the gun out of his hand, making sure to twist the appendage a way it wasn’t supposed to turn. “Still think I’m fuzz?” Jason asked.

“Who are you? Batman!?” the man howled.

The former Robin threw the dealer on the ground, pulling his own gun out and pointing it in the man’s face, loading it. “Batman, huh? You’ve got a whole lot of funny ideas, little man.” 

The dealer gulped. “Ch-chill out, m-man. Money’s all here,” he held out a paper bag of cash.

Jason snatched it. “Thanks, man. That’s not what I’m after, though. I’d really like to know who you’re working for.”

The man suddenly lunged away from the gun, rolling across the asphalt and trying desperately to stab his attacker with his switchblade knife. Jason blocked it easily, grabbing hold of the knife and stabbing it into the dealer’s own leg. The man screamed.

“You’re a brave one. Feel like talking yet? I’m getting a little tired of this dance.” Jason lowered himself, pointing the gun between the man’s legs. “I’d think fast, muchacho.”

“M-my supplier’s named Lou. He hangs around a bar in the East End. P-place called O’Malley’s.” 

Jason smiled. “See? Was that so hard?” He uncocked the gun and tucked it away in his coat, pulling the man up as he rose. “Now listen up. Three blocks from here there’s a place called the Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic. Ask for Dr. Thompkins, she’ll get you patched up. Oh, and I’d hurry before you bleed out,” Jason reached down and pulled the knife from the man’s leg, “because I’m keeping this.” Crying in pain, the man tried to hobble off, but Jason pushed him back against the wall. “One more thing. Park Row is _my_ turf. You keep your shit off my streets and you keep it out of schoolyards, because if I see your ass here again, I’m gonna come find you in whatever hole you’re hiding in and we’re gonna have words. And next time, I won’t be this gentle.” With that, the man limped away, moving as fast he could.

Scarlet was leaning against the brick wall as Jason came walking out of the alley. “Meeting went well?” she asked.

“Very well,” he confirmed. 

“Your bat friend. He told you not to use a gun,” she reminded him.

Jason chuckled. He took out the gun and pulled out the clip, making sure to face away from the street. “We compromised on rubber bullets,” he said, showing her. “Non-lethal.”

Scarlet raised her eyebrows. “I seem to remember you telling me they were lethal if carefully aimed.”

“Clever girl.” Jason put the gun away. “What the Batman doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“The world’s greatest detective? He knows.”

Jason grinned. “Let’s head back.”

As they walked down the street, he couldn’t help but reflect on how far Scarlet had come in the past three years. After Jason’s miraculous return, he had spent his time traveling around Gotham, dispensing justice in his own special, brutal way and mending fences with the Batfamily. One of the major villains he’d run up against had been Professor Pyg, a demented plastic surgeon who brainwashed and cut up his victims to make them “perfect”. They were turned into slaves called Dollotrons, mindless servants to assist Pyg in his vile quest. 

One of the victims of his operations had been a ten-year-old girl named Sasha. Her father had been an immigrant and a petty criminal working for Pyg, but when he got on the villain’s bad side he’d found himself sliced up and turned into a Dollotron. Sasha had gotten snatched up and was in the middle of the brainwashing process when Red Hood had busted in and shut down the operation. He’d carried the girl down ten flights of stairs--though he’d made sure Pyg took the one-step shortcut down to the ground floor--and brought her to Leslie’s clinic. 

Sasha had been cut up, partly brainwashed, and had someone else’s face stapled to her own. It took her days to recover enough to even form words, and Jason checked on her every night. Eventually, she’d decided to stick with the vigilante, and so he’d brought her to a safe house and kept her fed. The girl she was had “died”, as Sasha had told him a few weeks later, and boy could Jason relate. Even after the girl was comfortable enough to remove the extra face, she couldn’t see the person she once was. Sasha had become Scarlet, taking on a new name for a new identity. Jason had told her his own story, and they’d bonded over their tortured pasts and hatred for scum. Three years later, Scarlet had become something of a sidekick.

They made for an odd partnership, but they got the job done.

* * *

> **Park Row, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Thursday, June 16th, 2022, 15:44 EDT**

“I have to go to the East End tonight,” said Jason as he closed the apartment door behind them. “That guy’s boss supposedly hangs around O’Malley’s.”

“I have heard of this place. It is shit hole,” noted Scarlet.

“Yeah a lot of crooked characters hang around there; that’s what I’m counting on,” he turned to face the girl. “If I’m not back till morning, it means I got lucky. If I’m not back by tomorrow night, it means I’m dead. The apartment’s yours and so is the money in the mattress. Try not to spend it all on hookers and whiskey.”

Scarlet saluted him. “I just ‘vant you to know, you are the best father a girl could ask for,” she said mockingly.

Jason pinched her cheek, pulling his hand away before she could smack it. “I always knew there was a sweet girl under that tough exterior.” 

As he moved toward the door, Scarlet called out. “You ‘vear helmet?” she asked.

Jason shook his head. “Gotham’s criminal underbelly can get fussy. I already fought them for Park Row, I don’t need them knowing Red Hood is running around the East End, too. Not yet anyway.”

Leaving his costume behind, Jason stepped through his apartment door once more, locking it behind him.

* * *

Jason had died on April 27th, 2011, but the history books said otherwise. The entire city had watched as Joker beat Robin to death with a crowbar on his hijacked television airwaves. They’d witnessed Batman pull the boy’s broken corpse down from the bat-signal. Having Bruce Wayne’s son turn up dead the same day would be far too suspicious, so Jason’s grave told him that he’d died on _May_ 27th. The great Batman had even gone so far as to fake Jason’s appearance at two high society galas in May 2011, just to ensure there would be no skeptics. As the story went, he’d been killed in a car accident. It had been the complete fault of another drunk driver, so there was no blame to be placed on the boy. It was all very tragic. In reality, Jason had died thirty days earlier when his lungs filled with his own blood, but the city suspected nothing. They mourned the loss of Bruce Wayne’s charity case son for a weekend and then moved on. 

Batman must’ve been so distraught that he suppressed his detective side because he didn’t take notice when assassins from the League of Shadows came and replaced Jason’s decaying body with a replica. They’d taken his corpse and brought it an ocean away, where Ra’s al Ghul decided to use the Dark Knight’s greatest failure as payback for the heir who spurned him. 

The Lazarus Pits were of ancient origin. They had been in existence long before Ra’s had discovered them, but once he had, he’d sent his forces across the world to obtain and contain the magic lakes. The Fountain of Youth, the Holy Grail, the Elixir of Life--all legends based on real experiences with the Pits throughout history. Ra’s used them to heal wounds and extend his lifespan for six hundred years. They were not, however, capable of returning souls from the dead. Not until Jason came along.

Ra’s top scientist, a man who called himself Dr. Hurt (a name that could only inspire confidence), had hypothesized that the Pits could be capable of restoring life if the subject was brought back quickly enough and if the right measures were taken. Through means that were beyond Jason’s knowledge, they’d specially prepared the Pit and tossed his corpse in. 

In death, there was nothing. No Heaven, no Hell, not even a void of nothingness. Jason wasn’t a complete non-believer, either. He’d hung around enough Amazons to know that the Greek Gods were real, and he’d seen enough weird shit to know there were cosmic forces in the universe greater than he was… but in death, no one was listening to Jason. The last thing he remembered was drowning in his own blood and then suddenly… pain. The furious cry of life as the neurons in his brain began to fire once more and the pain receptors of his body healed. Cracked skin burned off as new flesh grew; the scorching waters of the Pit filled his lungs to heal the insides where he’d died of internal bleeding; the bones that the Joker’s metal crowbar had broken fused back together. After what felt like an eternity, Jason’s joints loosened enough for him to claw his way to the surface. Reduced to his most basic instincts, he began attacking every person in sight; desperate to share the pain he felt with everyone around him. Talia al Ghul had stepped in and knocked him unconscious, and the good Doctor Hurt had taken him for study. As they’d suspected, Jason’s mind was completely gone, but through trial, error, and more than a little magic, his consciousness was restored. However, it took years before he really remembered who he was.

Jason had been dead for thirty-two days. He’d been born on August 16th, 1995 and he’d been fifteen when he died. Jason’s memories hadn’t returned to him in 2011, and in 2012 he only remembered inklings of his past, but in 2013 he remembered enough to recognize August 16th as his eighteenth birthday. Only it wasn’t. He’d been dead for thirty-two days where he didn’t age, so September 17th was the day he turned eighteen. That’s when Jason had really started to realize what had been done to him. Thirty-two days of his life, gone. He’d missed time. Seven hundred and seventy-six hours where anything could’ve happened. Nothing was the same after that.

When the Cataclysm ended and Bane fled Gotham, Jason got left behind with a few other assassins. He was eventually able to break away from the Shadows’ mental programming and took on the name Red Hood, a moniker the Joker had once used. A ‘fuck you’ to the man who’d destroyed his life, if you will. By the end of 2016, Jason had quarreled with Batman, revealed his resurrection, tried to kill the Joker, and gotten caught up with a few other rejects. It took a few years to build his trust with the old family and carve out something of a new life, but Jason established himself in Gotham City once more. He’d met Scarlet and started carving out his own pie of the city to police. 

There were times Jason didn’t know what he was fighting for. He’d been killed and brought back kicking and screaming, and for what? The world had watched Jason Todd die, so he could never return to that life. The path of the hero that he’d clung to in his days as Robin? That sure wasn’t for him anymore. Sure, he wore the bat symbol and pulled his lethal punches, but Jason wasn’t Justice League material. He didn’t belong in the spotlight. Jason wasn’t fighting for truth, justice, and the American way. But he did know one thing: Gotham was full of scum who wanted to take advantage of the helpless. Jason had risen from a street rat to one of the most proficient fighters and killers in the world, and he’d use those talents for good. _Real_ good. He wasn’t like Bruce, stopping criminals one arrest at a time. To truly end Gotham City’s criminal underworld, you had to take it over. Jason had started with Park Row, and he planned to expand. He wasn’t helpless anymore, and whenever a downtrodden soul cried out for help, he’d be there. 

God help the filth that stood in his way.

* * *

> **East End, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Thursday, June 16th, 2022, 19:18 EDT**

O’Malley’s was just as disheveled as the rest of the East End. If Park Row was as new as it got, the East End was the opposite of the spectrum. Outdated and rundown, the district was the same as it had been a hundred years ago, just with a fresh coat of paint. And that paint was already peeling off. The bar’s sign was crooked and the LEDs in the ‘a’ of O’Malley’s were shorted out. Inside, Jason found the situation about as worse for wear. The bar was small and there weren’t enough tables to fit the twenty people packed inside. Some of the patrons were lurking on the sides, minding their own business. There were only a few people at the actual bar, a couple that was getting up to leave and another woman, drinking alone. But at the center of O’Malley’s was where most people had congregated. Laughing and jeering, all manner of criminals were gathered around the central tables. Sitting in the middle of it all was a man who had an obvious importance. He was wearing a polo shirt and had a casual manner about him, leaning back comfortably. The man had a ponytail and graying hair. He was of obvious Italian descent, probably a relic of when the Sicilian mafia had owned Gotham twenty years ago. This was his guy.

Jason walked over to the man, putting on his friendliest smile. “Hi there. Are you Lou?”

The man stopped talking and looked over at Jason, eying him carefully. “Who’s asking?”

“I spoke with your dealer earlier today about you pedaling dope on my turf? I’m sure he told you.”

Stunned at the surprising honesty of Jason's words, the thugs blinked before standing up and surrounding him, some of them drawing knives. “You’re the one who fucked up Ricardo earlier,” said Lou, rolling up his sleeves. “I don’t like people messing with my boys.”

“And I don’t like people messing with Park Row,” replied Jason.

Lou laughed, grabbing Jason by the collar of his jacket. “I was gonna send my guys here to come find you tomorrow, but it looks like you’ve saved me the trouble. I mean Jesus, man. You fuck with one of _my_ dealers and you decide to take a stroll down to _my_ town? How retarded are you?”

“You have three seconds to take your hands off me or I’m going to break every finger you have.” Jason’s words were as cold as ice.

Lou wasn’t laughing now. “Man, take this fool outsi--” Jason kicked the man in the knee as he headbutted him, sending Lou crashing to the ground. The vigilante spun around, catching the arm of the man behind him as he tried to stab Jason with a knife. Throwing him to the side, Jason dodged another blow as he counted. Seven men, including Lou on the ground. 

Jason pulled out his own knife, readying the dealer’s switchblade that he’d stolen in the other hand. He started slicing at the men who came near him, aiming for the upper arms and the sides of legs. He especially targeted above the eyes. Not the kinds of cuts that killed, the kind that bled. Blinded by his own gushing brow, one man tripped and Jason was able to send him crashing through a table. One down. 

Another man tried to grab Jason’s legs, but the antihero jumped over him and pushed him into his friend, sending both of them into a support beam. Three down. The fourth scumbag came at Jason with his own blade, and the vigilante spent a few moments deflecting blows. When they neared another table, Jason elbowed the man in the face and slammed his arm down on the surface, slamming his knife through the thug’s hand and nailing it to the wood. Four down.

Tired of dodging the last two men as he dispensed of the others, Jason sighed and pulled his gun out. He fired a rubber bullet at one of their throats. That shot had killed an estimated fifteen people in North America. Luckily, Jason was a good enough gunman to aim just carefully enough to make it non-lethal and make sure the bullet rebounded into the other scumbag’s eye. Okay, so _he_ might have a permanent injury. Six down.

The sounds of gunfire, even with rubber bullets, were enough to get the other customers scrambling out of the establishment, save the woman at the bar, who was completely unphased by the chaos. Jason turned to finish off Lou but found himself intercepted by a criminal he hadn’t properly dispatched. The gun went spinning out of his hand. Jason managed to force the man off him by stabbing him in the shoulder. _Now_ it was six down.

Finally done with the appetizers, Jason looked for the main course but found him gone. _Shit_. Suddenly, Lou rushed Jason, grabbing him and forcing him all the way to the bar, smashing him against the counter and trying to stab the hero in the throat. It was taking all of Jason’s might to hold the dagger back with two hands, let alone one, but he let the right one grasp frantically across the counter, looking for a weapon. His head was on the table now, the knife only a couple of inches from his left eye. Jason glanced desperately at the woman sitting at the counter a few feet away, who was completely ignoring the brawl and trying to finish her drink.

“Help a fella out?” asked Jason through gritted teeth. She sighed and slid her drink across the counter towards him. Jason caught it in his right hand, smashed it against the table, and brought the fistful of glass up into Lou’s face. The man recoiled in pain, and that was all Jason needed. He twisted Lou’s knife out of his hand as he forced the man back, the weapon spinning away across the floor. Jason punched him in the stomach once, twice, three times. He fell on his back in pain, Jason bringing his foot down on Lou’s head, pressing the glass further into his skin. The antihero kicked him again, forcing the man onto his stomach. Jason stepped on the man’s back and pulled his left arm up. Hard. The joint popped and Jason began snapping the man’s fingers as he screamed. “Seven, eight,” he counted, breaking each finger in turn, “nine… and ten.” Lou was sobbing now. Jason leaned down, real close to the man’s face. He grabbed Lou’s ponytail and pulled his head up. “You’re done, buddy. That’s all ten fingers broken; I ever see you dealing on my turf again--especially to kids--and I’ll start cutting them off.” Jason let go of the man’s hair and stood up, making sure to snatch the roll of drug money from the man’s back pocket. He grabbed his knife on the way back to the bar, much to the discomfort of the man he’d left it in. He grabbed his gun, too.

His workout done for the day, Jason took a seat at the counter. He looked at the barkeep and tossed down the money. “Damages are on them,” said Jason, nodding at the men still trying to pick themselves off the floor.

The barkeep picked up the cash and rifled through it, apparently satisfied. “You want a drink?” 

Jason smiled. That was one thing he liked about the East End. You pull some crazy stunt like the shit Jason just pulled, and as long as you paid your tab, you were good. It was just another fucking Thursday. “An Old Fashioned,” Jason requested, “and uh…” he glanced at the woman. “Another one for the lady.”

She looked up. “A Manhattan, straight,” said the woman. He liked her already. She was blonde, and more than a little attractive. 

“You know it’s not really a Manhattan if it _isn’t_ straight,” opened Jason.

“You know it’s impolite to approach a girl with blood all over you?” she replied.

Jason looked at his hand. It was cut up from the glass. “That’s a no-no, huh? Sorry about that.”

“I thought that was what the drink was for?”

“Fair enough. We’ll have to get a second round,” said Jason. He turned back to the barkeep. “We’ll start a tab.”

“Lady’s already got a tab,” the man said, placing down their drinks.

“Then consider it paid for,” said Jason, turning back to the blonde.

She raised an eyebrow.“ _We’ll_ start a tab?”

“We’re talking aren’t we?”

The woman shook her head. “You’re buying me things, we’ve yet to start a conversation.”

Jason sat back. “I’m all ears.”

“You want me to start?”

“I already started, now it’s your turn,” said Jason.

The blonde nodded to the scene behind them. “So what’s a boy like you doing in a place like this? Guy steal your dope or something?”

“Trying to take advantage of some corners that didn’t belong to him,” replied Jason. He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t catch all that? Conversation not interesting enough for you?”

The woman sipped at her new drink. “Someone like you comes in every night I’m here, starting trouble in a similar fashion. Frankly, it’s pretty sad. I don’t have the energy to pay attention to each one.”

“I’m not the one hanging out at a bar by myself at 7:00 pm on a Thursday night,” Jason pointed out.

She cocked her head. “I mean, yes you are.”

“Well, I’m conducting business.”

“Maybe I’m just coming off work,” the blonde offered.

Jason took a sip of his own beverage. “It’s just that most people bail when the guns start firing.”

“Is this a nightly activity for you?” asked the woman.

“No, but it happens more often than I’d like it too,” admitted Jason.

She smiled. “If I was really worried about getting involved in your little scuffle, I could’ve taken you out no problem.”

“Is that so?” he asked.

“Oh yeah. Wouldn’t be the first time I had to do so at O’Malley’s, either,” the woman said, laughing. “So… if you were caught up in knocking those guys around, why’d you stay to talk to little ‘ol me?”

“I stabbed someone in the face with your drink.”

“No other reason?”

Jason leaned back, eying her carefully. “I guess I couldn’t quite get a read on you.”

She sipped at her drink again. “What’s throwing you off?”

Jason considered that for a moment. “You’re clearly a regular here in the East End… but I can tell you’ve been uptown as well.” He shrugged. “I’m guessing there’s a story there.”

“Little girl living in the slums, climbs her way up the social ladder till she makes something of herself?” she offered.

“Something like that. What about me? Am I an open book?”

The woman laughed. “You just said you were from Park Row.”

“Forever and always?”

She looked into his eyes. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

Jason twisted in his seat. “Little boy living in the slums, climbs his way up the scumbag ladder till he’s running the show, beats on bad people to get back at the world?” The woman finished her drink, seemingly in thought. “What?” Jason asked. “Can’t relate? It gets more interesting, I promise.”

“No, no, I’m sure it does.” She took the last sip of her drink and met his gaze again. “You’re interesting is all.”

“And you’re dry,” said Jason, eying her empty glass. “Can I buy you another drink?”

“That would be nice,” she replied. Jason signaled the barkeep. The blonde smiled. “Does this boy have a name?”

_Once_ , thought Jason. “Call me Red,” he said.

She nodded at him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Red.”

“What about the girl? Has she got a name?” asked Jason.

She chuckled. “It’s Holly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worlds colliding! How exciting. But while Jason gallivants off on his own depressing adventures, Tim and Steph remain in the clutches of the Cluemaster! It’s about time the Batfamily found out about that, but first, we’ll have to check in with the Dark Knight’s first son: Dick Grayson, who’s having a crisis of his own. If this story tickles your fancy in any way, please leave a comment as it helps to motivate my fragile ego. I’ll see you next week; same bat time, same bat channel.


	7. Crisis

> **Burnley, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Thursday, June 16th, 2022, 15:59 EDT**

“I’m a twenty-year man, Captain. I’ve done time with Batman, the Teen Titans, hell, I’ve led the goddamn Justice League. Do you know what the most important lesson I learned was? The skill I constantly needed the sharpest? Figuring out when someone is lying or not. Now I ain’t Superman, I’ve got no x-ray vision to speak of so it’s all gotta be natural-born talent. When you’ve got the key whistleblower on a city’s entire criminal underworld in a room, you have to be able to determine facts from lies. When the leader of an international terrorist organization has his finger on the trigger to a bomb that could take out a third-world country’s entire infrastructure, you need to know where the line is. All the challenges I’ve faced, the foes I’ve defeated, it all comes down to knowing when someone’s lying. So, Captain Sawyer, I say to you… BS.”

Maggie Sawyer looked at Nightwing with a curious expression, then at her hand, and laid the cards on the table. Two sevens. “Enjoy the pile, Nightwing.”

“Motherfucker!” Nightwing slammed his fist on the table and vaulted out of his chair, pacing angrily around the holding cells as the cops laughed at him.

Robin leaned back in his chair, eying his partner with a slightly-evil smile. “You are aware that the object of the game is to get rid of cards, yes?”

“It is Batman who they call the World’s Greatest Detective, after all, not Nightwing,” joked Detective Yin as she placed her own cards on the table. “One eight.”

“In all likelihood an honest move,” noted Robin, readying his final two cards. “Sadly, your efforts are futile, Yin.” The fifth Boy Wonder placed two nines down on the table, finishing his hand to a chorus of applause from the various officers in the room. Sawyer, Yin, and Officer Lane threw down their own cards in defeat.

Nightwing shook his head. “Now _that’s_ bullshit.”

“It’s called strategy,” argued Robin.

“Oh, shut up.”

For almost six hours, Nightwing and Robin had been held up with the Major Crimes Unit, babysitting Deathstroke while Arkham staff prepared the cell he’d hopefully spend the rest of his life in. Dick Grayson didn’t claim to have an arch-nemesis. He’d certainly never had anything like Bruce had with the Joker, but if there was one person who had a shot of holding that title, it would be Deathstroke. Slade Wilson had plagued Nightwing since his earliest days with the Teen Titans. He’d killed Dick’s friends, his students. All the evil he had seen over the last two decades, and yet the first Robin had never had a foe who’d attacked him so purposely. It was high time for the assassin to be taken off the streets.

“We got time for another round?” asked Captain Sawyer as she got up to stretch her legs. “Or are we reaching the end of our road?”

“I think we’ll sit the next one out,” replied Nightwing, eying his communicator. “Bats should be dropping by any minute to relieve us.” Tim and Steph had taken the first watch last night, with Cass and Harper succeeding them, and then Dick and Damian. Bruce and Kate were set to relieve them at 16:00.

“It’s a damn shame,” said Commissioner Bullock, “I’d love the opportunity to kick your ass again.” Harvey Bullock was a GCPD veteran and a cop that Dick had known for most of his life. When Mayor March picked Gordon as his Deputy Mayor, Bullock made Commissioner. 

“Keep dreaming, Bullock,” said Nightwing, checking the time on his glove’s interface. 

Right on cue as the clock turned to four p.m., Dick heard the subtle growl of his adoptive father as Batman and Batwoman entered behind him. “Officers,” said the Dark Knight plainly.

“The cavalry has arrived!” announced the Commissioner as he walked over to the newcomers. “Huh. The Batman at four o’clock in the afternoon, I never thought I’d see the day.”

Captain Sawyer walked over and shook Batwoman’s hand. “Thanks for coming.”

“Always a pleasure, Captain,” replied the vigilante. Dick could help but smile coyly. In her personal life, Batwoman was Kate Kane, Bruce’s cousin and the wife of Captain Maggie Sawyer. No one else in the precinct knew that, though, secret identities and all, so they kept it professional.

Robin walked over to his father, standing at attention. “Status?” asked Batman.

_“He has made no attempt to escape,”_ said Damian in his native Arabic. To the Batfamily’s knowledge, it was not one of the many languages Deathstroke spoke, allowing them a conversation away from the assassin’s prying ears. _“However, there is simply no way the GCPD’s technology can hold him as well as the cell being prepared at Arkham. If he wanted to escape, he could.”_

_“Agreed,”_ said Batman in the same language. Bruce spoke twenty-seven, outmatching Dick’s sixteen, though they were both fluent in Arabic. _“I worry about Cluemaster’s potential involvement. Let’s hope that Cardinal and Spoiler take him down before he can try to use Deathstroke again.”_

As the Dynamic Duo discussed the prisoner, Nightwing walked over to the villain. “Slade,” he said cooly.

“Dick,” replied Deathstroke with a slight smile. Nightwing glanced around the room, but no one had heard the mention of his secret identity.

“This is goodbye,” said Dick. “You’re a relic of a bygone era, Slade. Now we’re burying you where no one’s ever going to see you again.”

Deathstroke’s body was completely enveloped in a metal casing. Each of his limbs was firmly tucked into locking mechanisms. An inhibitor collar around Slade’s neck sapped him of his metahuman enhancements. Two poles with tasers on the end were pressed into the sides of the man’s head, able to electrocute him with any sudden movement. For added insurance, two snipers stood a ways back with rifles aimed firmly at Deathstroke’s forehead. The mercenary would have to bring the whole station down with him to escape. The scary part was that he totally could, and wasn’t.

Slade moved his head a fraction of an inch, as far as he could without setting off the safety measures, and eyed Nightwing. “How many times have we fought? How many of your friends have I killed?”

“I stopped counting when you killed your son,” Dick retorted, turning from the villain in disgust.

“Look at you. Sidekick, hero, leader, cop, secret agent, lawyer. Pick a lane, Nightwing. You forget that I know you for what you really are. Another sad, broken boy living in his master’s shadow.”

Deathstroke was trying to get into his head. It was working. “You know I was there for the Joker’s cremation,” said Dick, turning back to the villain. “It was very cathartic. I’ll look forward to yours.”

With that, Nightwing walked away from the prisoner and went to retrieve Robin. “Always a pleasure, gents,” said the hero as he waved to the police. Nightwing and Robin said their goodbyes to Batman and Batwoman as they left the building and walked down towards the parking garage below the precinct. If he had to guess, Dick thought his adoptive father probably wouldn’t be joining the cops for cards. 

As they got into the Batmobile that the heroes had arrived in, Dick stretched his arms. “Well, that was boring.”

“Your diligence holds no bounds, Grayson,” said Damian, sighing. “I take it we’re headed to the Clocktower?”

“Yeah I’m gonna grab Mar’i for some training,” Dick confirmed, starting the car.

“I can use the zeta-tube there. No doubt the Titans’ training regiment has slumped in my absence,” replied the entitled Boy Wonder.

“We’ll be heading to the tower, too.”

“Why?” asked Damian, puzzled. “You have no business with the Teen Titans.”

“First of all, I founded your little clubhouse, so I think I have _some_ business there. For example, we pay good money for a private beach, and I’m sure as hell not gonna find any training space on a public San Francisco beach in June.”

“Tt, if you say so.”

“Hey,” said Dick as he remembered, “remember that Father’s Day project I was doing for Bruce?”

“His family ancestry project?” asked Damian curiously.

“Yeah, yeah. Kinda doubles as a bit of wedding gift, too, but Babs and I wanted to do this genealogy project that covered his history. Goes from his ancestors all the way down to you and me. Wanna know something interesting?”

Robin shrugged. “Tt, I’ve studied my paternal family history in great detail, I doubt you’ll surprise me.”

“Bruce had a baby brother,” revealed Nightwing as they roared through a tunnel. Dick was making sure to keep the Batmobile as hidden as possible during broad daylight.

“No he didn’t,” said Robin, shaking his head. 

“Thomas Wayne Jr. When Bruce was five years old, his mom got into a car accident that caused her to miscarry, but the baby was almost born.”

Damian folded his arms. “Father has never discussed this matter with me.”

“Nor me, but Babs found out about it when we were digging up information. Imagine if that kid had been born, huh? Maybe you’d have a nephew or two running around.”

“Then thank god we all drive these death machines around. I already have enough insolent family members to deal with,” groaned the Boy Wonder.

“That’s nice,” said Nightwing. “Anyway, you ready for Father’s Day? Hopefully, you won’t decide to try and defeat each of your siblings as a way of proving yourself to him this time.”

Damian sighed. “I was _eleven_ , Grayson. I’ve changed.”

Dick chuckled. “Yeah, I know, buddy.” Despite still being an entitled little demon child, Damian _had_ changed. Over the past three years, Dick had seen his little brother learn to love others and even summon respect for certain people. He’d matured and grown, but that didn’t mean he was always open to talking about his feelings. “So how about that wedding?” asked Dick, clearing his throat. He had to be careful here. “I know you helped with the planning.”

“I assisted moderately, and only at Pennyworth’s insistence.” 

“Well, better than me. I barely helped plan the bachelor party. Superman found the pocket dimension and Tim got all the gear.” To help give Batman a much-needed break, his sons and Superman had taken advantage of a pocket dimension that was only half a mile large. It was just a single lake, a boat, and six fishing poles, where literally nothing could go wrong. “So… how are you feeling about it? New stepmom, new sibling on the way. How’s that--”

“Stop it.”

“Stop wh--”

“I know what you’re doing,” huffed Robin as he shifted in his seat. “You’re trying to get me to open up again.”

“Wow, are you the son of the world’s greatest detective or something?” said Dick. “You forget that I’ve known Selina longer than I have any other woman in my life. She and Bruce have had their little _thing_ going since before I even came around, and I sure wasn’t happy about Bats dating a criminal when I was your age. Talk about a double standard. Plus, she wasn’t marrying my actual dad. Now I’ve had years for Selina to grow on me and I know you two have your differences. I know you’re feeling something.”

Damian shook his head. “This is ridiculous, I don’t understand why everyone keeps asking me this.”

“Come on, Dami. You forget that _we_ were Batman and Robin together. I know you, better than your dad does.” It was true. While Bruce had been… away, Dick and Damian had stepped up to fill the void. Before he was Bruce’s Boy Wonder, Damian was Dick’s. They had a powerful bond.

Robin let out a long sigh. “Hypothetically, I may think that my father was making an unwise decision. But whether or not they get married does not have the bearing on me people seem to think it does.” The young hero fiddled with his utility belt. “And I _know_ you know me.”

Nightwing took his eyes off the road for a moment and smiled at Robin. “You have to admit, kid, we made a pretty good team. We had some good moments.”

“We performed well. It was… fun.” Robin turned towards the window, hiding his expression.

Dick couldn’t help but smile to himself. Damian would talk when he was ready.

* * *

> **Old Gotham, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Thursday, June 16th, 2022, 16:16 EDT**

After several minutes of underground travel, first through tunnels and then through a disguised route through the sewer system, Nightwing pulled the Batmobile into the bunker below the Clocktower. The two heroes hopped out and entered the secured elevator that would take them up to the clockface apartment, where Babs headquartered her team: the Birds of Prey.

Dick and Damian entered the room, masks off. “Honey, I’m home--” began Dick, but he lurched back instinctively as something went whizzing by his head. He looked to where it had stuck to the wall: a stick-on crossbow bolt. “Helena, Jesus, I thought you were teaching my daughter multiplication, not assassination.”

“It’s called personalized schooling,” replied Helena Bertinelli as she took the crossbow from Mar’i Grayson. Helena was one of Babs’ best friends, the former second Batgirl, and the hero known as Huntress. She was a member of the Justice League and resided in Coast City on the west coast, but was able to beam over to Gotham with zeta beam tech. In her personal life, Helena was a substitute teacher, so she’d been helping get Mar’i up to speed on some basic Earth customs.

“Daddy!” cried Mar’i, flying over to Dick and hugging him. “Aunty Helena was showing me how to use a crossbow!”

“Uh… that’s great, kid,” replied Dick, somewhat worriedly.

Mar’i turned to Damian. “Do you know how to use a crossbow?”

“Tt, I’ve crippled men with crossbows,” replied the child who had been raised by assassins.

“Heh, same,” said Helena, not helping.

“Ah, come on, Hel, let’s dial back the manslaughter,” said Babs as she rolled into the room, smiling at her husband. “Welcome back, hun. How’s Deathstroke?”

Dick smiled and leaned down to kiss his wife. “Living, sadly. He’s keeping quiet, we’re not sure if he’s planning a move for tomorrow.”

“I’ll get you some coffee, let’s talk in the kitchen.”

Babs rolled into the next room while Dick followed behind. She set herself up against the lowered counter and began boiling water. “What’s on the docket?”

“I gotta go see my ex later,” said Dick, realizing he still had a box of old case files in his car that he’d ‘borrowed’ from the DA’s office when he was a police detective in Bludhaven. 

“Which one?” asked Babs, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, you know. The redhead.”

“That’s funny.”

Dick sighed. “Kate Spencer. Borrowed some case files from her before I went to Europe.”

Babs paused. “You borrowed some case files from her… two years ago?”

“Well, I was always planning on giving them back to her, but you see--”

“You forgot about them, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, a bit,” Dick admitted.

She took out two mugs. “So you’re talking Mar’i for training in a sec?”

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna take her to the tower,” decided Dick. “Make use of the beach; give her some training without powers.”

Babs frowned as she stirred the mugs. “I’d love to… talk tonight.”

Dick shifted uncomfortably. “About Mar’i?” They’d been having some arguments about Kori sending them her daughter to raise while she fought a civil war.

“About you, Dick. Something’s been going on with you and I think we should talk about it.”

Babs was right, even though Dick didn’t want to admit it. He’d had a crazy life these past twenty years. First, he’d been the Batman’s sidekick as Robin the Boy Wonder. After the Joker had shot Barbara, then operating as Batgirl, the Dynamic Duo had fractured over the Dark Knight’s blame. Dick had moved out to San Diego full time and lived out of Titans Tower. Eventually, he’d gotten roped into working with another team of young heroes, where he’d met Starfire, and became Nightwing. He went on to attend law school. After the Cataclysm, Dick had decided to truly step out of his mentor’s shadow by protecting his own city: Bludhaven, which neighbored Gotham. In his daily life, Dick had operated as a police detective. After Bruce vanished for a time, Nightwing even had to take up the mantle of Batman, with Damian as his Robin. When the League of Shadows had fallen, Dick had signed up with an espionage organization called Spyral to hunt down the Shadows’ remnants as Agent 37. Now he was finally back, he’d gotten married, found out he was the father of a ten-year-old kid at thirty-one, and Dick was completely lost.

He’d had so many different experiences and gone down so many paths in search of justice… Dick just wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore, and it was affecting his marriage. “You’re right, Babs. I think that would be a good idea.”

She smiled and handed him his mug, giving him some space to think as she rolled over to her famed computer console. The Joker may have put her in a wheelchair, but the first Batgirl had become one of Earth’s greatest heroes as the cyber crusader Oracle.

Dick shook his head as he sipped at the coffee. Early thirties was awfully young for a mid-life crisis, though he supposed his line of work put a strain on his lifespan. Dick finished the cup and set it down on the countertop, walking back to join his daughter. Training always helped clear the mind, and after that, Dick thought he knew just the person who could help him.

“Come now, Grayson, I have business to attend to,” said Damian impatiently as he waited by the zeta-beam teleporter. 

To make the Justice League’s orbiting headquarters, the Watchtower, practical, Martian Manhunter had helped to perfect teleportation technology. As long as you had Network clearance and a zeta-beam teleporter, you could link up with any of the other zeta-beam stations around the country. It made traveling coast-to-coast to visit the Titans Tower much easier. Back when Dick was a kid, planes actually had to be involved.

“Care to come visit the old stomping grounds, Hel?” Dick asked Huntress. “You might as well help with the combat training if you’re already teaching my daughter to impale criminals.”

“Tempting, but I’m booked I’m afraid. Heading to California, but Coast City, not San Diego. I’ve got a lunch date with Karen, plus I kinda have to get back to my real job,” she explained. Helena patted Mar’i on the head as she plugged her destination into the zeta-beam console. “See you, little Star.”

_“Recognized: Huntress, JL-66,”_ the computer called out as the hero dematerialized.

“Alright then,” said Nightwing. He tapped some buttons on the console. “Next stop, Frisco.” The heroes stepped into the teleporter.

_“Recognized: Nightwing, JL-37. Recognized: Mar’i Grayson, JL-37-D. Recognized: Robin, TT-45.”_

“Once more under the breach, my friends,” cried Dick as their atoms came apart and reformed three thousand miles away.

* * *

> **San Francisco, CA  
>  Thursday, June 16th, 2022, 13:27 PDT**

Nightwing, Robin, and Mar’i stepped out of the teleporter and into the entrance hall of Titans Tower. Even with all the time he’d spent at Haly’s Circus and Wayne Manor, this place was Dick’s true home. While teen voices could be heard echoing from the upper levels, the room was mostly deserted, save for Speedy aka Mia Dearden, Green Arrow’s young cousin. 

“Hey, Rob,” she said to her teammate as Damian made his way down the corridor, hands folded behind his back.

“How are the recruits, Dearden?” asked Robin.

“I don’t why you act like they're ‘your recruits’, Robin. You’re the newest guy here. And stop calling me by my real name if you won’t tell me yours,” complained Speedy as she joined him, waving briefly to Nightwing and Mar’i.

“I know everyone’s names, I’m the son of Batman,” proclaimed Damian as they turned a corner.

Laughing despite himself, Nightwing looked down at Mar’i. “Come on, I’ll show you my favorite spot.”

They exited through the back of the tower and walked down the beach towards the water. The perks of having your billionaire father build you a T-shaped tower of steel and glass just off the San Francisco Bay meant that no one was going to bother them on the semi-island’s private beach. 

“Wanna know something cool?” Nightwing asked his daughter, pointing to a spot in the sky that was just slightly off the beach. “About thirteen years ago, a portal opened up right there and your mom came tumbling out.”

Mar’i beamed. “This is where you met? Cool!”

“Oh yeah,” said Dick. “That big adventure that eventually led to you started here. But you know what the two of us did here most of all? We trained.” Nightwing threw his escrima sticks down in the sand and backed into a fighting stance. “I taught her how to fight hand-to-hand, without relying on her powers.”

“We’re going to train without powers?” asked Mar’i, puzzled.

“Yup,” confirmed Nightwing. “There are always going to be times when your abilities won’t be enough to save you. I’m gonna teach you how to fight without them, starting today.”

“So I can’t use my powers of flight?”

“Nope.”

“What about my star bolts?”

“Zip.”

“My long, prehensile tongue that allows me to eat objects other humans would find toxic?”

“For my sake, please don’t,” said Dick. That had been one facet of Kori’s biology that had grossed him out many times. “You ready? I’m not really gonna hit you, don’t worry.”

Mar’i prepared herself, raising her fists. With an unintelligible battle cry, she charged at her father, but Dick easily stepped around her and gently pushed her over. Already a resilient little ten-year-old, Mar’i got back up immediately and ran at her father again, trying to grab him around the waist. Dick twisted out of her grasp and sent her tripping into the sand where she’d started. Pumped up for one final charge, the young Tamaranean slid along the ground, aiming to knock her father over. Not to be outdone, Dick backflipped out of the way. Discombobulated, Mar’i rolled over in the sand and accidentally shot a star bolt, one of her energy blasts, at a nearby seagull. The bird managed to avoid the attack.

Mar’i brought her hands up around her mouth in shock. “Forgive me. I did not mean to use my abilities,” she said.

Nightwing smiled. “Stay whelmed, kid. This is only day one.”

Dick and Babs had gotten married this time last year. As the service was wrapping up, a knock on the door had brought the arrival of self-proclaimed Mar’i Grayson, who claimed to be the daughter of Dick Grayson and Koriand’r aka Starfire. That had led to some fun pillow talk with Barbara that night. For a few years, Dick and Kori had a serious romance that came to an end when the Teen Titans overthrew Starfire’s evil sister and she had to stay a rule over her planet. They’d spent one last night together, and that’s where Mar’i had come from. It had certainly thrown a wrench into the life Dick and Babs had been planning for themselves, but they’d managed to make it work… mostly.

Later, the two were resting on the beach, feet laying in the water when Mar’i hovered up into the air. “Daddy?” she asked. “Do you and Barbara want to have children of your own someday? With her, I mean, and not Mommy.”

Dick smiled sadly. “We did want kids, sweetie, especially Babs. But… when Joker shot her all those years ago and put her in that chair, well… it damaged her in such a way that it just isn’t possible for us.” 

His daughter looked down, frowning. “I feel sad for Barbara.” Mar’i descended back towards the sand. Like all Tamaraneans, her powers were connected to her emotions. Sadness tended to kill the vibe.

“But now that you’ve come along,” Dick said, taking his daughter’s hand, “we’re getting to see what parenting’s all about, though it seems your mom already did a pretty bang-up job. You’re a good kid.”

Mar’i smiled and soared back into the air. “And now you’re teaching me how to fight. When I go back to Tamaran, I’ll be able to kick even Mommy’s posterior!”

Dick burst out laughing. “I’m sure she’d love to hear you say that.” He glanced at his watch, realizing the time. “Alright, hon, we gotta pack it in and zeta back to the Clocktower. It’s six back on the east side, and your dad’s got an appointment.”

“With who?”

“The District Attorney’s office.”

* * *

> **Old Gotham, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Thursday, June 16th, 2022, 18:12 EDT**

“Well if it isn’t my favorite ADA,” said Dick as he spotted Assistant District Attorney Kate Spencer. “How is it that we both went to law school at the exact same time and yet you ended up in office and I ended up jobless?”

She laughed as she pulled him into a hug. “Yeah, I’m sure that multimillion-dollar trust fund of yours made it real difficult to quit policing and backpack across Europe for two years.”

“I come bearing gifts,” said Dick as he held out a box of old case files to her. “Those old files you let me stea-- borrow back when I was ‘detecting’.”

Kate took the box. “Thanks. I only needed these back in 2020. You’re lucky my boss didn’t kill me for that.”

Dick shrugged. “Seems like you made out okay. Katherine Spencer, thirty-one and already on her way to becoming the next district attorney of the Gotham-Bludhaven Metropolitan Area.”

“Yeah, we might be a few years away from that,” said Kate, scoffing. “So what made you finally bring these back? A gift from Dick Grayson usually turns into him asking for something.”

“Just your advice,” Dick said. “I’ve been thinking about getting back into law.”

She nodded and leaned back against the wall. “Well, you should. You were good at it. A better prosecutor than I was at times.”

“Aw, I don’t if I was _better_ than you--”

“I said ‘at times’. Seriously, though, you should consider it. You had the talent.”

Dick looked out the window and gazed out at the street. “I’ve been struggling with what I wanna do, y’know? I’ve done so much so young… I’m just not sure which avenue I’m gonna pursue.”

Kate adjusted the box under her arm. “Look, uh… you got me on my way out--I gotta feed my kid and all--but you’re talented, Dick. With and without the mask,” she said with a sneaky smile. Not only did she know that Dick operated as Nightwing, but she was a hero herself as Manhunter. “Whatever you decide to do, you’ll be great.”

With that, she kissed him on the cheek and walked back down the hall. “See ya, Kate,” he called. “Say hi to Ramsey for me.” Still conflicted but glad he’d had the conversation, Dick walked the other way, tapping his comm. “Hey, Babs. I’m headed back to the manor now. Got some stuff I should talk to you about. Wanna eat dinner and then watch me beat the shit out of criminals?”

_“Sure!”_

* * *

> **Gotham Square, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Thursday, June 16th, 2022, 23:37 EDT**

The cold night air rushed through Nightwing’s hair as he ran across the rooftop. As he neared the edge, Dick was brought back to the circus where he was raised, just as he was every night: standing on the edge of a trapeze as he prepared to take the leap of faith. Swinging his grapple line out across to the next building, Nightwing leapt from the rooftop, diving through the air.

“Woooooohooooo!” he shouted, pulling himself into the top of the arc and letting go, landing with a signature quadruple somersault. There were very few people in the world who could pull off that move.

“Does your ‘wooing’ often assist you in crime-fighting?” asked Batman over the comms as he followed along a few buildings over.

“You have you growling and brooding, I have my ‘wooing’. We all have to find our own way to strike fear into the hearts of criminals,” offered Nightwing as he swung over another city block. “Did Cardinal and Spoiler grab Cluemaster yet?”

_“They stopped a bank robbery an hour ago. I think they’re heading to take Cluemaster down now,”_ said Oracle over Dick’s comm. 

“Well it looks like we’ve got some action of our own to take care of,” said Nightwing, looking down at the street below as he perched on a gargoyle, Batman doing the same on the opposite side of the block. A group of suspicious-looking characters had gotten out of their car in front of a post office. They were armed. “Who the hell robs a post office?” Dick wondered aloud.

“There’s guaranteed money and a variety of different packages. They’re prime targets for looting,” replied the Dark Knight.

Nightwing sighed. “It was rhetorical, Bats.” Dick pulled his escrima sticks from the holster on his back. “Whelp, let’s get this show on the road before they get inside.” 

The hero leapt from the gargoyle, spinning down on his grapple line as he aimed for the street below. Once on the ground, he immediately brought his weapons into the back of two of the men’s knees. They crumpled as the other turned. Nightwing grabbed the weapon of one man and forced it into the air whilst he kicked away the other. Batman was already there with him, knocking the two men on the ground out. Dick backflipped away from his target’s right hook and flung a Batarang--to be different, Dick called his Wing-Dings--between the man’s eyes, knocking him unconscious. Nightwing finished off the last man by knocking his head against the pavement.

“Well, that was easy,” said Dick as he helped Batman zip-tie the men to a nearby street lamp. Bystanders started to creep out onto the street as they realized the fighting had subsided. Nightwing waved to a group of people watching from an apartment window. “Nothing to see here, folks. Just some pure, unadulterated heroism.” Dick eyed the tanker truck the men had arrived in. “What do you wager they’re hiding in there?” he asked Batman. Just as he said that, the truck wobbled from side to side and a primal roar emerged from inside. Nightwing blinked. “We’re both in agreement that the truck just moved, yes?”

Batman sighed. “Damn. It’s--”

“Solomon Grundy, born on a Monday!” roared the undead villain as he literally burst from the truck, tearing the roof off with his massive, rotted hands.

Nightwing groaned. “Zombies. Why did it have to be zombies?”

The heroes dodged as the villain lunged for them, almost barreling into the lamppost where his criminal cohorts were tied up. Solomon Grundy was a familiar sight for any hero. A hulking, undead zombie who had plagued the Justice League for almost its entire history, the villain had a way of always finding some way to return. You know, being undead and all that.

“Christened on Tuesday!” the monster roared as he tried to grab Nightwing. Worse than the villain’s terrifying appearance and lust for bloodshed was that his vocabulary was exclusively limited to the nursery rhyme from which he got his name. That had gotten old about twenty years ago. 

Batman threw small explosives at the zombie, knocking him back. He didn’t have to tell Dick to keep the monster away from the buildings. They’d been partners for years and they knew how to fight as one.

“Married on Wednesday!” cried Grundy as he hurled the smoking ruin of the truck at the heroes, which they barely dodged.

Batman threw Batarangs at the villain’s legs, trying to slice his tendons open, a trick that had worked before. “If I get him on his knees, can you get a clean shot?”

“Took ill on Thursday!”

Nightwing swung his grapple line back around, aiming for the top of a storefront. “Way ahead of you,” he replied to his mentor.

“Grew worse on Friday!” roared Grundy as Batman managed to slice the tendons on his legs open. The monster felt no pain, but it removed the use of his legs and brought him crashing to his knees.

Nightwing jumped from the storefront, landing on top of Grundy and hooking his legs around the zombie’s neck. “Here we go.”

“Died on Saturday!” yelled the monster as he tried to shake the hero off. 

There was only one tried-and-true way to stop Solomon Grundy: stopping the monster’s heart until someone woke him back up. Pressing his escrima sticks into the zombie’s temples and turning their tasers all the way up, Nightwing blasted energy throughout the monster. He silently thanked Lucius for insulating his costume. Grundy howled and began to fall towards the ground as Dick leapt off. “The bigger they are…”

Grundy smashed against the pavement, clutching his chest. “T-that… was t-the end of… Solomon Grundy.”

Nightwing extended his arms and stretched as he let out a long sigh. Batman snapped an inhibitor collar around the monster’s neck. “All in a day’s work, huh, boss?” asked Dick.

_“Very minor property damage. Another win for the taxpayers,”_ said Oracle as she watched through the feed of the heroes’ cowls. 

Bystanders began to return to the streets once they realized the commotion had ceased. Once they saw GCPD patrol cars in the distance, the heroes decided to make their exit, grappling back up to the rooftops. 

Walking across the edge of the roof like it was a tightrope, Nightwing glanced at Batman. “Pretty solid teamwork back there, wouldn’t you say? Makes me remember the old days.”

The Dark Knight gave a rare smile. “Me too.” He suddenly frowned and glanced to his right, though there was no one there.

“What’s up?” Nightwing asked, confused. 

Batman shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“How’s Deathstroke?” asked Dick as he sat down on the rooftop. They were bordering Gotham Square. The area was filled with large advertisement screens and a crowd of civilians eating and talking below.

“Didn’t make any moves or provide much of anything during our watch,” replied Batman. “Azrael and Batwing are watching him now.”

“Oof, poor Michael,” said Nightwing. Michael Lane had spent his regular shift as a police officer with the Major Crimes Unit guarding Slade. Now he had to head back in his Azrael persona after drawing the night shift.

Batman growled. “There’s just too many mysteries surrounding this whole case. Deathstroke’s one of the most wanted men in the world and he comes back to Gotham for what? Money? How could Cluemaster gather up _that_ much incentive?”

“Hopefully we’ll get some answers when Tim and Steph bring him in,” said Nightwing.

Their comms suddenly pinged with Oracle radioing in. _“Guys! Are you seeing this weird feedback? There’s some kind of signal sweeping through the cit--”_

“Oracle? Babs?” asked Nightwing, but her signal had cut off.

Suddenly, all the advertising screens in the square crackled with static. Every screen insight across the Gotham City skyline cut out. Then they all came to life with the same video feed.

_“Think! Thank! Thunk!”_ cried an unseen audience as a game show-style logo filled the screens.

“What is this?” asked Nightwing.

Batman grimaced. “Cluemaster.”

_“Hello, Gotham City! Welcome to a special anniversary episode of your favorite local game show! I’m your host Arthur Brown, though you may know me better as Cluemaster,” said the villain as he filled the screen. “Ten years ago, I was the host of this illustrious show. Sadly, we were unfairly canceled after one season, and I had to put my talents toward a life of crime just to get by. But tonight, we aren’t here to drudge up the past, we’re here to herald in the new future! For the next twenty-four hours, I’ll be sharing a series of clues with the city as a way of allowing the Gotham police force and the dear Batman to come find me. You see, the winner of today’s show gets a special prize: a dirty bomb capable of leveling ten city blocks. If left unclaimed, well, we might just end with an explosive finish.”_

“Jesus,” said Nightwing, not believing what he was seeing. How had Cluemaster gotten his hands on all of this? Hacking the emergency channel, powerful bombs, Deathstroke. What was the endgame? Getting to be a game show host for another day?

_“And for extra motivation,”_ said the villain, turning the camera towards a pair of unconscious bodies strapped to the wall, _“we have a couple of honored guests: Cardinal and Spoiler, two of Gotham’s finest vigilantes!”_

Batman’s frown tightened. “No…”

Besides the obvious, Dick knew what was really bothering his adoptive father. This was all _very_ reminiscent of the night Jason had died.

_“We’re running all night and all day, ladies and gentlemen, so prepare for a wild ride! The first clue has been sent to the proper authorities as encrypted data. Stay tuned for this special episode of_ Think, Thank, Thunk! _See you soon, Gotham!”_

The feed cut out. Shouting filled the square below as people pointed up at the screens. Oracle’s voice filled their comms once more. _“Guys… he sent the data to Bruce Wayne’s personal email account.”_

“The police will have a copy as well, said Nightwing,” already preparing to rush back to the Batcave.

Batman slowly raised a finger to his comm, activating the button to access all Network channels. “Calling all Gotham agents. This is an omega-level threat. All hands on deck, tonight we sweep the city.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh noes! Tim and Steph! The action is heating up, gents, and it’s all hands on deck as Batman tries to stop history from repeating itself. We’ll be revisiting the Dark Knight’s perspective next week, and you can bet your bottom dollar his mind-Joker will have a few things to say about the situation. If this story tickles your fancy in any way, please leave a comment as it helps to motivate my fragile ego. I’ll see you next week; same bat time, same bat channel.


	8. All Hands on Deck

Every droplet of rain that spilled on the ground was more time lost. Every crack of thunder, every flash of lightning, every hit of the crowbar reverberating across Gotham was more time slipping away. He had to find Jason.

Batman had fought countless battles with the Joker over the past eleven years. He’d witnessed chaos personified, hundreds killed just so the Clown Prince of Crime could get a good laugh. Even with all the men, women, and children that had been slaughtered, Batman’s arch-nemesis had never struck so close to home. Even when the clown shot Barbara, and Bruce’s friendships with Dick Grayson and James Gordon had nearly been destroyed, they had at least had her. But Jason was missing. Worse, he was dying. The Joker had somehow hijacked the airwaves and was broadcasting a message throughout the city, slowly, methodically beating Robin to death with a crowbar as he laughed like only a madman could.

_ “Blue Beetle and Booster Gold managed to get me into the GCN radio network. With a little luck, I think I can get the location off the broadcast signal,” _ said Barbara over the comms. She’d worked as Batgirl for years, but now confined to a wheelchair, she had been nurturing her aptitude for hacking.

“Get it done,” said Batman, pulling his body through the air as he tugged at his grapple line, trying to make gravity work faster. Everywhere he looked, there was a screen. Gothamites stopped and gawked as they watched a bleeding child being tortured. This had been going on for hours. The Joker was taking his time, but Jason couldn’t stay strong forever. “What did Leslie say?” asked Bruce as he landed on a cement truck, letting it carry him to the next block and then swinging away. Leslie Thompkins was the family doctor.

Barbara took a few moments to respond.  _ “She thinks the internal bleeding has only gotten worse, but we just can’t be sure from the video alone.” _

“How much time does he have?” asked Batman coldly as he swung under the Ferris wheel of Amusement Mile.

_ “She… she doesn’t think he has much left in him. The Flash is still sweeping the city and the Leaguers are turning over every rock and looking in every nook and cranny. I… I’ll find the signal,”  _ promised Barbara as she clacked away at her keyboard. The Dark Knight’s confidence in her claim was about as solid as the wavering in her voice.

Batman landed on the ground in the center of Miagani’s amusement park, walking briskly towards the doors of The Stacked Deck. It was one of Gotham’s most infamous bars. It often catered to henchmen and other lowly criminals, especially those that worked for the Joker. Batman kicked through the entrance, drawing the eyes of everyone inside and they stared up in terror. 

“Where is the Joker?” asked Bruce, his voice cold as ice.

The criminals all drew guns, but the gas pellets had rolled across the floor before they could even aim them properly. Batman took cover as tear gas filled the room, sweeping a cable around the legs of a pair of thugs as the henchmen fired into empty air. Every bullet was another second gone. Batman tore through the crowd. If he saw an arm, he broke it, if he saw a head, he smashed his knee against it. The criminals were in shambles by the time the gas had dissipated. There were only a few left standing. The Dark Knight threw well-aimed Batarangs at a couple, grabbing another man and slamming him through a table. 

Finally, there was only one criminal left. Batman grabbed him by the neck and slammed him down against the bar. “Where is Joker?” he asked again. The man merely cried out in response. Batman broke his right arm, fracturing the left hand as he did so. “Where is Joker?!” the Dark Knight repeated, throwing the man to the ground. He got on top of the criminal and started smashing his fists into his face. “Where is he?!”

“I don’t know,” the man sobbed through broken teeth. 

Before Batman could throw another punch, a lasso coiled around his arm and pulled him back. “That’s enough!” cried Wonder Woman as she and Green Arrow entered The Stacked Deck. She pulled the Dark Knight off the criminal and picked up the now unconscious man. “You think this is how you’re going to get your answers?” she asked angrily.

Batman straightened his cape and turned to the door. “I don’t have time for this.”

Green Arrow stepped in front of him. “That man will spend the next six months drinking through a straw. That one over there might never walk again. I know that you’re hurting. Believe me, I know what’s at stake, but you don’t help anyone by tearing through criminals like they’re fucking butter.”

Batman pressed the button on his comm. “Penny-1, can you send the Batwing to my location?”

_ “Of course, sir,” _ replied Alfred.

“Damn it, Bruce, listen!” said Diana angrily as she rounded up the bloody, beaten criminals. “We don’t find Robin by you acting like this. Stop wallowing in your misery and let us in. We need to work together on this.”

_ “Batman!”  _ shouted Barbara as she broke over the call.  _ “I’ve got a location! 357 Pinkley in Gotham Square.” _

Batman turned away from his fellow Justice Leaguers and blasted through the doors. The Batwing, which had only been parked a mile away, was lowering onto the ground in front of the Ferris wheel. Wonder Woman and Arrow cried out to wait as Bruce slipped into the cockpit, firing the engine as he lifted into the sky. 

The Dark Knight tore through the night, essentially flying from Gotham’s southernmost point to its northernmost island. The other Leaguers who had arrived on the scene made their way towards the location. Nightwing and Superman were not among them. The former was on Tamaran with his team, as far as they knew, but was supposed to have made it back safely days ago. The latter was on New Argo with Lois for their honeymoon, blissfully unaware of what was happening back on Earth.

As Batman touched the Batwing down in Gotham Square, he already saw Flash and Green Lantern racing around the plaza endlessly. “There’s no sign of him,” said Barry, running up to the Dark Knight as he hopped out of the vehicle.

Batman hurriedly tapped his comm. “Barbara, do you have a location?”

_ “It… it moved. Two blocks east,”  _ she said, obviously worried.  _ “Batgirl will meet you.” _

The second Batgirl was named Helena Bertinelli. She had a dark past and less qualms about killing criminals. Helena was incredibly close to Jason. If he died… her behavior had been getting more and more erratic all night. She didn’t want to lose her partner. Batman and a legion of other heroes raced across the city, all the while Joker beating Robin on the broadcast. He was slumped over more now, and his breathing was shallow. 

When Bruce landed on the rooftop, Batgirl was there, her expression tortured. “I searched the whole building, he isn’t here.”

“Barbara!” Batman shouted over the comms.

_ “It’s back in the square-- I don’t-- something’s happening.” _

Green Arrow turned to the Flash. “Barry, is there any way--”

“I’m searching what I can, but I just can’t explore tens of thousands of buildings top to bottom. No one’s that fast.”

They all swung, flew, or ran back over to Gotham Square. The broadcast was projected on hundreds of screens all around them. No building showed any sign of Jason.

“We checked all these!” shouted Green Lantern as he did another scan with his ring.

Batman pressed his comm again. “Damn it, Barbara, where is the signal coming from?!”

She was crying now.  _ “It’s… it’s gone.” _

“WHAT IS?!” yelled Batman.

_ “The signal. I--” _

But then everyone became quiet as the clang of the Joker’s crowbar dropping to the ground echoed across the plaza. Jason was lying on the ground in his pool of blood. He wasn’t moving. Joker whistled. “Welp, that’s all, folks!” The broadcast when dead.

Batgirl immediately swung off into the night while others began to talk in hushed voices. Batman ignored the looks of the other heroes and found the Batwing, climbing in and lifting back off into the sky. He scanned endlessly for any of the trackers on Jason’s suit, anything he’d missed. Batman went back to Amusement Mile, to Ace Chemicals, Crime Alley, anywhere he thought he had a chance of finding the Boy Wonder. Eventually, the Bat-Signal filled the sky. But it wasn’t the normal insignia of a bat that shone in the night air. It was a twisted shape meant to mimic the mammal, but done poorly. It looked almost… human.

Batman had to cross ten city blocks to reach the Bat-Signal, yet Bruce knew what was waiting for him before he even left the square. After a few minutes, he fired a grapple line and ascended one final time to the roof of the Major Crimes Unit facility. Batgirl was already there, having come from the north side of the building. She was on her knees, frozen in shock. Jason’s body had been strapped to the face of the Bat-Signal, projecting a crude image into the sky as it hung limp in the light. Batman saw Jim and a few officers emerge from the building’s bulkhead, only to usher them back inside when he saw the boy’s body. 

Bruce heard other footsteps and hushed whispers as members of the Justice League landed behind him. Batman slowly walked towards the signal, sinking in every detail of the corpse that the broadcast hadn’t betrayed. Jason’s body was covered in bruises. Blood ran down the entire figure; some of it had dried hours ago, while some was still warm to the touch. There were deep gashes all along Jason’s corpse. One of the lenses of his domino mask had been cracked inward. Across the front of his body was sprayed ‘HA HA! THE JOKE’S ON YOU, BATMAN’ in large green, painted font. 

The body had been strapped hurriedly to the Bat-Signal with tape and Batman was able to tear him down easily. Jason hung loosely in his arms. The corpse had yet to stiffen. Bruce took in every welt and cut along the boy’s body. This had been a child, not even sixteen years old. And Bruce had killed him.

Batman felt a strong hand on his shoulder. “Bruce, I…” whispered Wonder Woman softly, at a loss for words.

“Leave my city, Diana,” said Batman, his voice cracked and tired, the flurried activity of the night’s events catching up with his body. “Everyone. Leave Gotham.” 

One by one, Bruce heard them leave. The shift of wind as several took flight; the whistle of Oliver’s arrow as he sunk a grapple line into the next building and swung away; the rush of Barry’s speed. Batman never turned around. His eyes were still fixed on his son. He recalled that night in Crime Alley when they’d first met. Did Jason look any older than he had then? Still a young boy that Bruce saw himself in. Well, this was the cost of bringing him into the fold. Where was Dick now? On an alien world, still on a mission he and his team were supposed to have returned from days ago? Barbara was confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life because of Bruce. Even Jim had almost turned against him. Helena? Bruce bringing her into the fold had only brought her closer to the darkness. Scarred, broken, or worse. This was the cost of the Batman’s mission. Never again.

The scrawled ‘HA HA’ on Jason’s suit began to move, and real laughter started to permeate the air around Bruce.  _ Never again _ . It was the Joker. His laughter rained down on the half-dead Dynamic Duo like the stab of a thousand knives. It wasn’t Jason in Bruce’s arms anymore, it was Tim.  _ I will never let this happen again _ . Tim was laughing now, his stiffening corpse brought back to life. Tears dripped from his face as Bruce’s third son laughed at him, the boy’s own blood spilling from his mouth. There was a chorus of laughter all around them now. Batman lifted his head to the sky and cried out, but whether it was with laughter or rage, he couldn’t say.

* * *

> **Burnley, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Friday, June 17th, 2022, 00:14 EDT**

“Batman!” said Nightwing sharply as he snapped his fingers in front of the Dark Knight’s face. “You with me?” Bruce grunted his confirmation. Nightwing nodded to the crowd. “Everyone’s here.”

The heroes were sprawled out across the Major Crimes Unit rooftop. Nightwing, Robin, Mockingbird, Signal, Batgirl, Batwoman, Bluebird, the Question, and Flamebird made up the full Batfamily response team since Batwing and Azrael were still guarding Deathstroke below. Oracle, Catwoman, and Alfred were manning the comms. Several GCPD officers had gathered around as well.

“Red Hood?” asked Batman, noting the one member of the family who hadn’t answered the call.

“He’s not responding.”

The Joker laughed as he viewed the crowd. “Shame that kid’s missing. I wonder if he’s been caught up in this game show business, too. We both know what happened the last time Jason Todd disappeared, heheh.” 

“Listen up,” said the Dark Knight, commanding silence across the rooftop. “Two days ago, we received intel that Deathstroke, notorious assassin and one of the few remaining members of the League of Shadows left uncaptured, was headed to Gotham. We tracked him down and we got him.” A few cheers and claps arose from the police officers. Batman silenced them with a look. “It turned out that Deathstroke was linked to Cluemaster, a former game show host turned small-time supervillain. Whether or not Cluemaster hired Deathstroke is unknown. Either way, two of our own have been captured and there’s a dirty bomb capable of taking out Gotham in the hands of a madman. Cluemaster won’t act until tonight, when it’s his showtime. Our job is to stop him when that happens, before then if possible.”

“What are our leads?” asked Batwoman.

“After the Joker hijacked the GCN broadcast network in 2011, the city put measures in place to prevent a similar event from ever happening again. To pull this off, Cluemaster would’ve needed someone at Gotham Radio Towers in the Coventry. Cardinal and Spoiler were last seen heading for the Westbank Church in Old Gotham, there may be some trace of them there. Finally, Mockingbird and Bluebird managed to determine that the ship that smuggled Deathstroke in was the Final Offer, owned by Oswald Cobblepot.”

“I thought Cobblepot was reformed?” joked Detective Yin. Though the mob boss had been paroled and supposedly rehabilitated, few believed it. They were right to be skeptical.

“Just better at hiding his criminal affairs,” replied Batman. “We’ve learned before that simply sweeping the city isn’t going to help us find what we’re looking for. Following these leads is the best way to find Cluemaster, save our agents, and figure out the truth of Deathstroke’s involvement. Nightwing, Batwoman, Flamebird, Question, you head to Gotham Radio Towers and see what you can find. Mockingbird and Bluebird, you head to Old Gotham and see if you can find any trace of Cardinal and Spoiler. Take Batgirl. Robin and Signal, you’re with me. We’ll be paying a visit to the Penguin.” Bruce turned to Bullock. “Commissioner, deploying men from the Major Crimes Unit in those districts would be much appreciated.”

Bullock pointed to the woman behind him. “Sawyer’s the MCU captain, she’ll take point.”

Batman simply gave a curt nod to his team, and they all vanished into the night, diving through the night sky as they pursued their assignments. Robin and Signal stayed behind, looking at the Dark Knight expectantly. “We’ll leave in a moment,” he said, turning towards the door that would take him down into the Major Crimes Unit building. “I need to have a little talk with Deathstroke first.”

Bruce descended down several flights of stairs, passing through the different levels of the GCPD facility. When he reached the holding cells, Batman moved through a maximum security door to the room where they were holding Deathstroke, setting off metal detectors along the way. No one moved to stop him. The Dark Knight entered the room where he had guarded the mercenary just hours earlier, which was still full of cops as well as the vigilantes Batwing and Azrael. Silence filled the room as the police officers sighted the hero.

“Everyone out,” said Batman coldly. Even though it was their building, none of the GCPD officers made an argument. Everyone filtered past Bruce and out of the room, with Batwing and Azrael nodding to their leader as they went by. Deathstroke simply sat in his cell and smiled. When the door had closed shut and everyone had exited the room, the Dark Knight made his way over to the mercenary.

“Batman,” said Slade Wilson as he greeted the hero, unable to even nod at his enemy with the metal cocoon that imprisoned him.

“Deathstroke,” replied Bruce, standing stoic in front of the thick glass that walled off the cell.

“Don’t tell me you’ve come here to shake me down for answers. Come on, Bruce. You know me better than that,” laughed the villain. “You know, your sons are much more fun.”

“I’m just curious,” said Batman, looking Slade dead in the eye. “Three years of keeping quiet and you come out of hiding now? For this? Whether it was Cluemaster or the President of the United States who hired you, I just don’t see why you’d risk it all. Surely you knew it would only end with you locked up alongside the rest of the Shadows.”

Deathstroke sneered. “I’m an old man, Bruce. My children are all dead or hate me, my legacy is regret, and the organization I dedicated years of my life to is in shambles because of you. Maybe I just wanted to see an old friend fall. What difference does it make if I die in prison or in some third-world country halfway around the world?”

“You failed, Slade. Now you’re never getting out of Arkham.”

“So everyone keeps telling me,” replied the mercenary.

“You’re the world’s greatest assassin, not the world’s greatest escape artist,” growled Batman. “His name is Mister Miracle and he’s a member of the Justice League. We left him in the Black Wing for a week and he couldn’t get out.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt the prison’s impenetrability,” said Deathstroke. After a long silence, he spoke again. “Well, I guess this is goodbye, Batman. Go get married, have that kid, save the day, etcetera.”   


Eyes dark behind the cowl with the reference to his personal life, Bruce turned from the villain and walked out of the room, not saying another word. Once he emerged, the police began to funnel back into the room, ignoring the Dark Knight’s gaze. The other heroes approached Batman.

“Did he give anything up?” asked Batwing.

“No,” replied the Dark Knight, glancing back at the room. “I still think this is bigger than Cluemaster, but he isn’t giving up any new information. You two keep on the watch, I’ll send someone to relieve you and then you can join the search party.”

“We’ll find them,” said Azrael calmly. “Cluemaster won’t do anything unless he has an audience.”

With that, the heroes parted ways.

* * *

> **Chinatown, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Friday, June 17th, 2022, 00:33 EDT**

As Batman raced the Batmobile raced towards the Diamond District, where he and his young partners would find Oswald Cobblepot at his Iceberg Lounge, the Dark Knight received a call from Selina on his communicator. He made sure the line was linked to his earpiece and not the car’s speakers.

_ “Hey, Bat,” _ said Selina.  _ “Oracle is on the line with Nightwing right now. He and the others are about to arrive at the radio towers. Sounds like there’s something going on there.” _

“Good,” replied Bruce. “Maybe we’ll find a lead.”

_ “So you and the kids are headed to talk with ‘ol Ozzie?” _

“Yes. Penguin was taking a huge risk bringing Deathstroke in with the Feds watching him so closely. Whoever paid him also paid Slade, so either Cluemaster gained a ridiculous amount of capital or someone else is bankrolling this whole operation.”

Selina sighed.  _ “That’s what I was afraid of. Any idea who could be behind this?” _

_ “Yeah, Bats. Or are you not the world’s greatest detective after all?” _ asked the Joker. He was sitting in the back next to Signal, catching Batman’s eye in the rearview mirror. The Dark Knight ignored the illusion.

“I’m hoping Cobblepot can give us some answers,” said Bruce.

_ “Man I miss being out in the field. Catwoman’s claws were always able to make that fat bird squawk,”  _ said Selina wistfully.  _ “...How are you doing, Bat? I know this brings up… memories.” _

“I’m fine, Cat,” said Batman coldly. “We’ll find them when we take down Cluemaster. The most important thing right now is finding out what’s going on with all this. I love you.”

_ “I love you, t--” _ the Dark Knight turned off his communicator by pressing his finger to the side of his cowl.

_ “I don’t know, Batsy,”  _ said the Joker. He was sitting in the passenger seat now, in place of Robin.  _ “You forget I know you better than anyone. Something tells me you’re worried about history repeating itself. Hehehe, there’s something bigger at work here, isn’t there? And whoever’s running the show, they want to hurt you. Killing a Robin? That’s a surefire way to get to the Batman. I should know, haha!” _

Bruce tightened his grip on the steering wheel, pushing the long-dead clown out of his mind until Damian and Duke were the only passengers in the car.

* * *

> **Diamond District, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Friday, June 17th, 2022, 0:39 EDT**

The Iceberg Lounge was packed when the Batmobile rolled up to the curb. Opting to take a stealthier approach than merely parking in front of the entrance, Batman drove down to an underpass and secured the car there. The heroes then scaled the building opposite the Lounge and peered in from a block away.

“Signal, you can see better than us. Do you have eyes on Cobblepot?” asked Batman.

Unlike the rest of the so-called Batfamily, Duke Thomas was a metahuman. His unique physiology provided him with photokinetic vision. That meant he had a better perception of the electromagnetic spectrum and was able to track the path of light. Part of those abilities meant he could see the world through x-rays, which far outmatched Batman and Robin’s enhanced binoculars.

Signal nodded. “I see him. He’s in his office. Looks like a business meeting of some kind.”

“Let’s go listen in,” said Robin, firing his grapple gun and leaping into the night. 

Batman and Signal followed, all three of them landing on the side of the Iceberg Lounge and pulling themselves up and over the ledge. “Robin,” said the Dark Knight sternly, grabbing his son’s shoulder. “You have to wait for my signal when we’re in the field together. You’ve been acting too impulsive lately. I know the stakes are high tonight, but judgment can’t go out the window.”

Robin wore white lenses, but the eyeroll could almost be felt through the domino mask. “Cardinal and Spoiler will be fine. That woman in particular is too stubborn to die. I’m just trying to get down to business while I’m still young.”

Grunting at his son, Batman pulled a listening device from his utility belt and placed it on the glass skylight, careful not to betray their location to anyone who happened to be looking up.

The Penguin’s voice crackled over the device, traveling up from inside the office.  _ “Thank you for meeting with me, gentlemen. As you can see, the Iceberg Lounge saw a 27% increase in profit this quarter. We’ve cemented ourselves as the hottest club in Gotham, beating out Olympus at every turn. Patrons young and old come from all over the city to visit the establishment. With your investment, I’m confident that the payout will be just as high, if not higher.” _

“Tt. He’s not going to give us anything,” muttered Robin.

“Agreed,” said Batman, turning to his other prot égé . “Signal, can you let us know what kind of security we’ll be facing?” One of Duke’s most useful powers was not just that he could see where light had been and where it was, but where it  _ would _ be. It allowed Signal precognition up to a few minutes, where he’d be able to see light reflecting off any newcomers, which could help the heroes prepare for any opposition they would face. It also helped give Duke an edge in combat, though it was nowhere near as accurate as Cassandra’s skills. 

“Four guys coming in from the side door there,” Signal said, pointing. “As soon as we land.”

“Plant a charge above the door, it’ll serve as a perfect distraction,” replied Batman.

“How did you ever get along without me,” Duke quipped as he carefully tiptoed around the skylight and planted a small explosive above where the security guards would be entering.

“Do I have your permission, Batman?” droned Robin sarcastically.

The Dark Knight stood. “Now.” The three heroes dropped through the skylight and landed in front of Penguin and the investors.

“Security!” squawked the overweight crook as Batman grabbed him. 

Robin shooed the investors away by placing his hand on his sword hilt, which sent the men running. As four security guards burst through the office door, Signal pressed the button on his trigger and the concrete above the men gave way, raining down on them. No one was seriously hurt, though one twisted their ankle in a fall and another was knocked unconscious by a falling piece of rebar. The two young heroes went to silence the others as Batman threw Penguin up against the bay window. 

“Batman,” croaked Cobblepot. “Always a pleasure.”

“I need information, Penguin,” growled the Dark Knight as he manhandled the villain. “Your boat brought Deathstroke to Gotham, and now the safety of the entire city is on the line. Talk.”

“Batman, please. I’m reformed! An honest businessman! You come into my establishment, destroy property, and muscle my men, and yet you call  _ me _ the villain. Why I should--”

The Dark Knight forced Cobblepot through the window, sending him falling two stories, howling all the way.

“Jesus!” shouted Signal as he raced to see if Penguin was a red splatter on the ground.

“Oh, you knew it was going to happen,” complained Robin, eying his father at the brutal method of justice.

“I didn’t know you’d let him fall!” shouted Duke as the three heroes pulled out their grapple guns and descended towards the ground.

“You bastard!” shouted Cobblepot as he looked down at his twisted legs. “I might never walk again.”

“My aim’s not as good as it used to be,” offered Batman. “I’ll make sure to guarantee it next time.”

“Guess the Penguin really is a flightless bird,” joked Robin as he admired the height of the fall.

The Dark Knight grabbed the whimpering Cobblepot by his collar and pulled him up. “Now talk, or we’ll go again.”

“I-- I  _ may _ have been paid ten million dollars in cash to transport Mr. Wilson from Asia to Gotham,” said Penguin through gritted teeth. “But you goddamn rodents can’t prove any of it!”

Batman stepped on Cobblepot’s leg, causing the allegedly-reformed mob boss to howl in pain. “Who hired you?!”

“I don’t know, damn it! Someone local, old money. They paid me, Deathstroke, and they gave Cluemaster his bomb. They’re planning something big, but that’s all I know.”

“Stay clean, Cobblepot,” warned Batman, “and I won’t have to come talk to you again.”

The three heroes began walking back to the Batmobile. Penguin cried after them. “You can’t just leave me here! I’m bleeding out!”

Batman stopped. “Signal, does Cobblepot bleed out within the next few minutes?”

Duke surveyed the crippled villain, sensing for the shadows of light that had yet to shine. “Not as far as I can see. Not in the next five minutes, at least.”

“Good enough for me,” replied the Dark Knight, and the three heroes continued walking as Penguin called after them.

Once they reached the Batmobile, Batman handed Robin the keys and turned to his young partners. “Stay in the car, I’ll be right back.”

“Want me to drive?” asked Robin. Batman gave him the look. “But I know how--” The look. “Tt. Fine.”

The Dark Knight fired his grapple line into the air and swung through the Diamond District. He made his way to the top of Gotham General, the highest point nearby. Batman tapped the interface on his glove and pinged Cardinal’s tracker. No luck. He tried Spoiler’s. The same. It was the first thing he’d tried when Cluemaster’s broadcast had aired. Eleven years ago, when Jason had gone missing, Bruce had tried it almost every hour. The result was always the same.

_ “Took you long enough,” _ said Joker, who was leaning up against the edge of the roof.  _ “I thought you’d never get here. Heh, gotta commend you for dropping ‘ol Penguin on his ass. That was a hoot, haha! I did notice how touchy you get when missing sidekicks are involved. Guess some things haven’t changed. Is that why you’ve been acting up so much, Batsy? Or maybe that’s just the normal you and you’re more like me than you’d prefer to admit.” _

Batman started at his ghost across the rooftop, eyes full of malice. “We are not the same.”

_ “He does notice me! Why I was beginning to think you were crazier than I was. All these months of ignoring me, for what? Afraid to listen? Maybe I’m your conscience, Bats!” _

Bruce was sore and tired. He made his words as blunt as possible. “I don’t need you and you’re not here. Go away.”

_ “How rude! But I can take a hint. Be seeing you, Bats. Be seeing you real soon…”  _ Joker laughed loudly as he jumped over the side of the building and did a swan dive into traffic.

Just as Batman had shaken himself of the illusion, his comm buzzed with a call from Oracle. He accepted.  _ “Nightwing and Batwoman were able to find out what was going on at Gotham Radio Towers,”  _ revealed Barbara.  _ “Cluemaster had a few technicians working the place. They were able to hijack the signal for him.” _

“Can we trace it?” asked Batman, already knowing the answer.

_ “Not until Cluemaster turns the feed back on. We’re stationing a watch there in case anyone comes back, but we’ll be able to track it for sure tonight. I… when Jason was… taken. I didn’t have the capabilities to find him then, but I’ve dedicated years to making sure it’ll never happen again. I became Oracle, built the Network, and have covered the city in as much surveillance as possible. We’ll get them back.” _

Bruce was silent for a moment. “What happened wasn’t your fault, Oracle. I’m sure you’ll be able to track Cluemaster down today. Did Mockingbird and Bluebird find any evidence of Cardinal and Spoiler’s kidnapping?”

Barbara sighed.  _ “Nothing. It was a clean grab. Very professional; Cluemaster couldn’t have done it alone.”  _

Batman frowned. Stephanie had her faults, and an obvious personal weakness when it came to her father, but Tim was one of the best pupils he’d ever trained. “I interrogated Penguin. He revealed--”

_ “Signal briefed me. You were right. We’ve got a larger player on our hands.” _

“Robin, Signal, and I will go and case the cathedral scene. Maybe there’s something the birds missed--”

_ “Cluemaster won’t rear his ugly head until nightfall. Sleep, Batman. Be with your bride. Go through the normal daily routine of a certain billionaire philanthropist. We’ll keep searching, but we won’t have answers until tonight anyway,”  _ said Oracle.  _ “Signing off.” _

Batman sighed as he turned off the communicator. He looked at the Bat-Signal shining in the sky. After Jason, there had been a year when it hadn’t shone at all, until Tim came into Bruce’s life. The Dark Knight pulled out his grapple gun and fired a line. He couldn’t lose another son. Batman leapt off the edge of the building and soared into the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy story progression, Batman! The plot is moving along as we count down to Cluemaster’s big show, and this is just the beginning! Next week, we’ll be hopping into the mind of the girl in the chair: Oracle aka Barbara Gordon. How does she coordinate so many costumed heroes simultaneously? I guess we’ll have to find out. If this story interests you in any way shape or form, please leave a comment as it helps to motivate my fragile ego. Catch you next week; same bat time, same bat channel.


	9. Eye in the Sky

> **Old Gotham, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Friday, June 17th, 2022, 4:29 EDT**

Barbara Gordon remembered when Gotham City had first started to change. She’d been nine years old, going on ten, when her father James Gordon had come home from a late-night shift. It was an early April morning, around 4:00 AM. The neighbor had put her to bed hours earlier, but after her mother’s death, Babs had always stayed up for her father’s return. She knew how dangerous of a job working as a police officer was, especially in the worst city in the country. An underpaid detective who hadn’t received a promotion in over a decade, Barbara’s dad was used to spending his days fighting injustice in an unjust system, trying to keep out of trouble. Overworked and beaten down, James would always kiss his daughter goodnight before collapsing into his favorite armchair and enjoying a glass of whiskey. But this time, he had been wide awake. Ever curious, Babs had insisted he tell her about it. The detective had told her a version of the truth, and Barbara had been forced to fill in the blanks for herself years later, but in summary: James Gordon had been investigating rumors of a violent vigilante beating on criminals and disrupting Cosa Nostra operations in the East End for weeks. But it was on that night that the vigilante had approached the veteran detective, offering a partnership. James hadn’t been sure whether he was going to accept or not. The mystery man was proposing that the two work together to combat the corrupt institutions in Gotham City, from the Mayor’s Office to the Police Department. 

Babs’ father had come to Gotham City full of hope. Twenty-six and with a few years of policing in Chicago under his belt, James Gordon had come to one of the worst cities in the world to do some real good. What he wasn’t prepared for was just how corrupt the GCPD was. His first night on patrol, Gordon was the first responder to sounds of gunfire in Crime Alley. His partner Flass had discouraged even responding. Park Row was known for gang violence, and most cops didn’t bother with the area. Still, the young officer persisted, arriving on the scene of the Wayne murders and comforting the young Bruce Wayne in the moments following his parents’ deaths. The next day, they found the gun that had been used in a local pawn shop and called it case closed. No hunt for the killer. There was a reason James eventually took up smoking. Everyone was on somebody’s payroll, from Gordon’s partner to the Commissioner. Sure, they weren’t all bad, but those that weren’t crooked had learned to keep their heads down. Officer Gordon endeared himself to the people of Gotham City. He did real good, stopping crooks and saving civilians. A true poster child for the seemingly-illustrious Gotham City Police Department. Eventually, Gordon made Detective and started tackling cold cases left and right. He turned over stones and looked in the grimy cracks and crevices that other cops avoided. When the powers that be pushed on Gordon to lay off certain leads or look the other way, he pushed back. He found the line and for a while, he stayed there, not afraid to push boundaries. Eventually, James Gordon got cocky. He started really digging into what was going on at City Hall. That’s when they’d cut Babs’ mother’s brake lines. After his wife’s death, the hero detective had learned to keep his head down. Now, years later, the mysterious vigilante had come calling. He was offering the exact mission Gordon had tried to pursue earlier. The detective didn’t want to do it for the danger it posed to his daughter, alone. Babs had convinced him otherwise. He was a damn good cop and he had to always do what he felt was right. So James Gordon joined forces with the vigilante, and they carefully began to dismantle Gotham City’s organized crime operation. He would remain an urban legend for years, and his sheer existence wouldn’t be confirmed until the debut of the Justice League in 2003, but a story from Vicki Vale on May 27th would solidify reports of the vigilante’s name: Batman.

The year was 1999. The rise of the Dark Knight began to completely change the way the city operated. The Sicilian mafia, the Cosa Nostra, had run Gotham for twenty years. The branch’s leader, Carmine Falcone, had held things together with an iron fist for all that time. But with the arrival of Batman and his ally in the GCPD, the established order crumbled. Over the course of a few months, corrupt officials fell and justice began to take root. Commissioner Loeb warned James about staying out of trouble, but the hero cop persisted. Eventually, armed men kidnapped Barbara from her home. Detective Gordon followed in pursuit, stopping their car on a bridge. Carmine Falcone’s nephew, Johnny Viti, threw Babs off the bridge as her father filled the man full of lead. As the wind rushed through her hair, Barbara barely had time to process her impending death before a gloved hand pulled her up. The Batman had saved her. The mysterious vigilante that had been the subject of so much discussion was real. He was there, right in front of her. And he had saved Babs’ life. With the help of District Attorney Harvey Dent, Batman and James Gordon took down Falcone and slowly began to build a better Gotham City. Twenty-three years later, there was still plenty of crime and corruption, but the city had recovered remarkably considering all the chaos Gotham had been put through. And of course, now it had its heroes. Inspired by Batman, Babs had decided to try her own hand at super-heroics.

Six years of gymnastics and self-defense courses later, Babs was at a Halloween GCPD costume ball when petty supervillain Killer Moth crashed the event. She didn’t think; she acted. Suiting up in a homemade Bat-Girl costume that she had brought but been too embarrassed to wear, Barbara Gordon swooped in and stopped the villain, saving scores of police officers and even the event’s sponsor: Bruce Wayne. Filled with a hunger for justice, Babs began hitting the streets in her new Batgirl persona. She got knocked down more than a few times, but she always got back up. Her stubbornness garnered her a bit of a reputation around Gotham. Babs thought she had done a good job of keeping her dual life a secret from her father, but in retrospect, he had certainly known. The newly-promoted GCPD Commissioner allowed her to test her hand at superheroing, though he was most definitely behind a certain Dynamic Duo interrupting Batgirl’s patrol a few weeks into her career. They warned her about the dangerous game she was playing and the deathly consequences that could come with it. Nevertheless, Babs had persisted. She slowly developed her skills and began to work more closely with Batman and Robin. By the end of 2006, she had earned their trust enough to become part of the team. She was taken to Gotham Cemetery, where the heroes revealed the graves of John and Mary Grayson, as well as Thomas and Martha Wayne. These were the Dynamic Duo’s parents. As she’d suspected for months, Robin was Dick Grayson and Batman was Bruce Wayne. Born out of tragedy, they worked to combat injustice and save lives, and to prevent the orphaning of other young children. Barbara understood. She swore a vow and got to wear the Batman’s symbol with pride. 

Batgirl joined the Teen Titans and made friends with other young heroes, growing especially close with Supergirl. She saved lives. Her notoriety in the media rose as high as Robin’s, who she had eventually begun a relationship with. But by the summer of 2008, Babs graduated high school and decided to leave her career as Batgirl behind to focus on college. She continued her romance with Dick Grayson, with the two eventually admitting their love for one another. But the happy post-hero life didn’t last. On March 29th, 2009, Babs was back in Gotham at her father’s home. She had been waiting on her friend Colleen to come over for yoga practice. At the sound of the doorbell, Babs had gotten up and walked over to the apartment entrance. She didn’t check the peep hole. When she swung it open, Babs was met with a beaming Joker and the blast of a gun. The bullet tore through her core and set her smashing through the glass coffee table. Her father tried to fight back, but Joker’s men got to him and knocked him out. The Clown Prince of Crime had been wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a purple fedora. He’d carried a classic polaroid camera. His men took the Commissioner away and left the Joker with his victim. Babs had barely been able to move her hands to cover the wound and struggled to gather the strength to press down. She knew the bullet had pierced her spinal cord. Her mind had raced for an explanation about the events that were rapidly unfolding. There had been no way the villain knew about her former life as Batgirl. As she'd struggled, the clown took his time walking around the apartment, finishing off James Gordon’s scotch before making his way over to the young woman bleeding out on the ground. He laughed and apologized about the mess. The Joker explained that the only reason Barbara Gordon had been shot was to get to her father. It wasn't because of anything she'd done, but because of the mission that James Gordon and Batman had started. As Babs’ blood stained the carpet, the villain stripped her naked while whistling a tune and then proceeded to take graphic pictures of her mutilated form. He methodically waited for each polaroid to exit the camera and then let them drop on the ground. Some of them were so stained in blood that they were beyond use. Nevertheless, Joker eventually gathered up all the pictures, tipped his hat to her on the way out, and left the apartment.

If not for Colleen, Barbara would have died of blood loss. Her friend got her to the hospital. James Gordon had been taken by the Joker, and the pictures were so the clown could torture him. Babs had the doctors call Dick instead, but by the time he arrived, she’d slipped into a coma. Barbara Gordon awoke a couple of weeks later to discover that everything had changed. Batman had found the Joker and locked him away after beating the villain within an inch of his life. Robin had wanted to go a step further, but the Dark Knight refused. His lover lying broken in the hospital as a cost of their mission was the final straw for Dick Grayson. The young hero punched his adoptive father goodbye and moved to California. Babs confronted him about the ordeal, reprimanding Dick for his actions. The fight led to the end of their blossoming romance. James Gordon had been rescued safely, sanity intact. He was the one to deliver the harshest truth of the new reality to his daughter: she would never walk again.

For a while, Babs wasn’t sure how to proceed. Most of her time was spent in physical therapy. So many of her pursuits, educational or otherwise, had to be halted. She would never again swing through the skies as Batgirl. As the months passed, Babs began to heal her relationships with Dick and her friends. Bruce allowed her to do more recon and background work for his crusade, mostly out of guilt. Her new predicament certainly gave Barbara the chance to sharpen her already-unparalleled technological skills. Eventually, the Batman got himself a new Robin, and Babs found a suitable replacement to take up her old mantle. The daughter of mob royalty with a dark past, young Helena Bertinelli rose to become the second Batgirl. She and Jason Todd shared a passion for skirting the no-kill line, something which greatly upset Bruce. But despite her helping to train the next generation of rodent-themed heroes and increasing her hacking skills, Barbara still failed. Jason was kidnapped by the Joker and beaten on live television. The same villain who had done so much harm and put Babs in her wheelchair. This was her chance to get even… and she failed. Babs failed to track the broadcast signal correctly, and Batman was too late to save his son. Every part of her wanted to wallow in self-pity. She wanted to sink back into her chair and just disappear. It wasn’t fair. Barbara Gordon had been put on ice just so the Joker could have some gory set-dressing to fuck with the Gotham City Police Commissioner. Batman getting darker, Dick leaving, her father almost breaking… it was all because of her and yet none of it was  _ about _ her. Babs couldn’t afford to be another casualty of the Joker, not when so many lives were constantly on the line. So she got to work; she became Oracle. The world’s greatest hacker and computer extraordinaire, Babs built up her repertoire until she became--dare she think it--one of the world’s greatest superheroes. She founded the Network, a global organization of cyber heroes that were constantly in the ears of those fighting on the front lines. Babs even saved the world once or twice. She would never walk again, and yet as Oracle, Barbara Gordon stood taller than she ever had.

Now Babs sat contemplating at her Kryptonian-enhanced computer console in the heart of the Old Gotham Clocktower, which she had outfitted into the perfect base of operations for the Network as well her own team of vigilantes: the Birds of Prey. It had been eleven years since she’d failed to find Jason Todd; since she’d become Oracle. The situation with Tim and Stephanie echoed the one from all those years ago so oddly. It sent chills down Babs’ spine--well, the parts she could feel. Oracle had resting comm lines with all the Batfamily agents currently in the field, but another call popped up on her right monitor. Helena Bertinelli. Her tenure as Batgirl hadn’t lasted much longer than Jason’s death, but she’d stuck around with Barbara and eventually taken up the identity of the Huntress.

_ “I just saw the news,”  _ said Helena.  _ “You need me to zeta over there? I can always bring Pee Gee if you need a Kryptonian.” _

“Thanks, Huntress,” said Oracle. “Extra hands aren’t the problem, no matter how super they may be. Nothing’s going down till nightfall and the situation is delicate. Penguin told Bats that Cluemaster ain’t bluffing about the bomb. It was shipped in along with Deathstroke.”

_ “Has Slade been talking?” _

“No,” said Babs, sighing. “We’ve had rotating watches on him for the past thirteen hours. Flamebird and Signal are in there now. Both he and Cluemaster are working for some unknown third party, but Deathstroke isn’t one to give up a client. We’re not sure if he’ll try to make a move tonight.”

_ “Well… i-- if y-you need some extra muscle, I c-can always come and break his balls if he tries to esc-escape,”  _ said Huntress, panting between words.

“Are you fighting someone right now?”

_ “Just some light patrolling-- OW! THAT HURT, MOTHERFUCKER.” _

Oracle cleared her throat. “Well, I certainly appreciate the offer. I’ll let you know if we need the backup.”

_ “--AND I’LL PUT A CROSSBOLT THROUGH THE OTHER LEG IF YOU OPEN YOUR MOUTH AGAIN, BITCH... Sorry, O, I was dealing with something.” _

“Oh, believe me, I’m used to it,” said Barbara, glancing at her other monitors. She had the Wayne Satellites scanning the city for traces of explosives, but they weren’t guaranteed to pick up everything. The other Gotham heroes were all around the city, following leads. A new notification appeared. “Look, Huntress, I’m sorry to cut you off so soon, but I’ve got to take a call from Nightwing.”

_ “Mmm, I get it. Well, no worries, I’ll be here all night. Signing off.” _ The thwing of her crossbow and the distant scream of Helena’s victim could be heard as she exited the call.

“Hey, honey,” said Babs as she switched comm lines. “Anything new?”

Dick’s voice came crackling over the communicator.  _ “No luck tracking the technicians. Seems like that broadcast signal is the only way we’re gonna get a location on Cluemaster. You can definitely track it?” _

“Even if he tries to bounce the signal, I’ll be able to trace it back,” confirmed Oracle. “I doubt we’ll have any trouble, though. Cluemaster wants us to find him.”

_ “Guy’s from show business, the worst kind of supervillain. He’ll need his audience,”  _ agreed Nightwing.  _ “So, I had Question here with me a moment ago--though I think she just ran off to beat up a carjacker--what about the rest of our crew?” _

“Batman, Robin, Batgirl, Catwoman, and Penny-1 have all gone to bed at my behest. Mockingbird and Bluebird just paid a visit to the Final Order ship, but it didn’t turn up any leads. Batwing was helping me scan for traces of C4, though that hasn’t borne any fruit yet, either. Azrael checked out two of Cluemaster’s old bases, but again, nothing.”

_ “Red Hood is still a no-show?”  _ asked Dick.

“Yeah. Red isn’t known for keeping in touch, but if he’d seen the broadcast, he’d have contacted us. I sent Batwoman to swing by his place. Sca-- uh, his very sleepy roommate said he went to take care of some business in the East End. Bar called O’Malley’s.”

_ “Eugh, that place is a shit hole.” _

“So I’ve heard. The barkeep said he left with a woman,” relayed Babs.

_ “Ah.” _

“When he wakes up, Red Hood will reach out.”

_ “Did uh… did Mar’i get put to bed?”  _ asked Nightwing awkwardly.

“Yes,” said Oracle. “She went down a while ago.”

Oh, Mar’i. She was the sweetest little girl on the planet, but she came with a complicated history. After Babs and Dick had split, the latter had set up a new team of Teen Titans in San Francisco. Right as they were getting off the ground, Koriand’r came crashing down to Earth. A skimpy, superpowered alien who just happened to gain knowledge of other languages through the act of kissing. Supposedly, this had to be re-upped every week, something the red-blooded, eighteen-year-old Dick Grayson was happy to reciprocate. Yet when Mar’i showed up, one quick peck on a startled Alfred was enough to make her fluent in English. Makes you wonder… Anyway, Kori became Dick’s girlfriend and a member of the Titans as Starfire. When Jason was kidnapped and Babs needed Dick the most, where was he? On Tamaran, Kori’s homeworld, helping her take the royal throne. Their relationship had at least ended there, but one last night of passion led to Mar’i showing up about a decade later… on the night of Barbara and Dick’s goddamn wedding. There certainly seemed to be a pattern of Kori messing up Babs’ love life, so she’d never had any love for the alien. And then there was Mar’i. Sure, she and Barbara had a good relationship, but the girl would never be  _ her _ daughter. She was Dick’s, and a reminder of the thing Babs wanted most… and couldn’t have. The accident had left Barbara Gordon unable to carry a child. Dick didn’t realize just how much it bothered her. Mar’i would always be an awkward point of discussion when it came to their marriage.

“So… do you feel like a new man?” asked Babs.

_ “Now that I’m done dealing with my mid-life crisis?”  _ replied Dick.  _ “I think so. There’s still so much to think about, and I’ve been dealing with quite a bit these past few hours.” _

“We’re gonna get them back, Nightwing. I-- I’ll get it right this time.”

She could almost feel her husband’s reassuring smile over the comm line.  _ “I know you will, and this time, I’m right here with you.” _

It was easy to feel helpless when you lived life from a wheelchair. With your mobility taken away, you lose so much freedom. But Babs was always fighting. When she lay bleeding out on that carpet all those years ago, she did all she could to contain her bleeding, to fight for life. She’d never stopped fighting, not since that Halloween night when she knocked out Killer Moth and learned the rush of being a hero. They’d rescue Tim and Steph, they’d stop Cluemaster, and they’d save the city. Whatever awaited them, Barbara Gordon would never stop fighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a retrospective chapter, but I thought it was important to establish Babs’ mindset headed into this story. Next week, there’s sure to be more action as we’ll be revisiting Jason’s POV and getting him back in the loop on what’s been going on. He’s been having an… interesting morning. If this story tickles your fancy in any way, please leave a comment as it helps to motivate my fragile ego. Huge thanks to David Foster for giving me some great feedback the other day. Catch you next week; same bat time, same bat channel.


	10. The Morning After

> **Robinson Park, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Friday, June 17th, 2022, 09:13 EDT**

  
Jason didn’t sleep very long. Ever since he had returned, he just hadn’t been able to grab more than a few hours. Still, despite automatically waking up after four hours of sleep, Jason had to admit that he’d slept comfortably. Holly’s mattress was extremely comfortable. It wasn’t like the beds at Wayne Manor, where the experience was like sleeping on a marshmallow. Those were too soft. Hers was firm and pretty stiff; uncomfortable by most people’s standards, but very comfortable for Jason. He hadn’t heard Holly’s full story last night, and he sure as hell didn’t remember all the details he had learned, but Jason knew that she’d spent time on the streets, too. They’d both spent more nights sleeping in alleys than feather beds.

The former hero got up off the mattress, making sure not to disturb Holly. He went to check his phone, but it was dead. There was a charger in the corner. Jason plugged it in next to a potted plant and slipped out of the room. He couldn’t help but whistle in approval as he viewed the hallway. He knew that Holly had moonlighted as a thief for years and had built up quite the nest egg, but Jason hadn’t expected her digs to be _this_ nice. A huge penthouse overlooking Robinson Park. He’d been too distracted to appreciate the place last night, but the view was spectacular. Huge bay windows and sunlight drafting in from every which way. Jason spotted some kind of greenhouse on the roof, too. The place was massive. As he walked through the corridor, the antihero couldn’t help but admire the series of paintings that covered the interior wall. Jason certainly wasn’t one for appreciating art, but even he had to admit the sheer beauty of the apartment’s collection. One of them caught his eye. He remembered this one. It was called Midnight… something. Jason was pretty sure he’d seen it in the Gotham Museum once; this one had to be a replica. In addition to the paintings, there were _a lot_ of house plants. Almost a ridiculous amount.

Jason finally made it to the kitchen and began to search around. As he prepared some coffee and searched for any semblance of a breakfast he could throw together, the antihero took notice of another person in the room, sitting at a table. A young, redheaded girl who couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen. _Fuck._ Holly had mentioned she had roommates, but she had neglected to bring up a) that they’d be home in the morning and b) that one of them was a goddamn kid. Thanking whatever deities were out there for his decision to put on some pants before he’d gone to sleep and praying that this wasn’t Holly’s child, Jason awkwardly turned to the girl.

“Uh… hey,” he managed.

“Hey,” said the kid, not glancing up from whatever she was fiddling with.

“What you got there?” Jason asked.

“I’m putting tutus on toy cars,” she replied.

“Ah.” He became quiet again as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Jason thought about offering the little girl one, but then he remembered that kids weren’t supposed to drink coffee. Of course, Scarlet did, but she also drank beer because Jason wasn’t a good enough role model to stop her. “I’m Holly’s friend,” he said, feeling that he ought to provide some context.

“I know. You’re not the first friend I’ve met.”

Jason blinked, sipping absently at his coffee. “Are you--”

“Holly’s not my mom.”

 _Thank God._ “Right, right,” said Jason. He wondered how many others lived here. “So… does Holly bring home a lot of friends, or--”

Suddenly, a yapping came from the next room over. “The dogs are hungry,” remarked the girl as she slowly began to stand up, still fixated on dressing up her toys.

Curious, Jason began to round the corner. The ‘dogs’ hadn’t exactly sounded like normal pets. Their barks had been higher-pitched, and just plain weird sounding. They-- “What the fu-- Are those hyenas!?” yelled Jason as he saw what two animals were pawing at their crates. Suddenly it all clicked. Holly, the penthouse, the art, the kid, the fucking plants. _Oh shit._ The former Robin didn’t have time to move as the vines ensnared his ankles, pulling him off the floor.

“Language,” said Poison Ivy, dressed in a green bathrobe and holding her own cup of coffee. The former villain’s eyes seemed tired as she eyed her prey. “What the hell are _you_ doing here, Jason Todd?”

“I brought him home,” said Holly, entering the room and heading over to the counter to make herself some coffee. “I was curious; wanted to get to know him.”

“Holly _Robinson_ ,” said Jason, groaning at his own ignorance. “Selina’s best friend. I remember you now. I had to read your file when I was training.”

The blonde woman sipped at her coffee. “Well isn’t that charming.”

Ivy sighed as she loosened the tendrils wrapped around Jason’s feet. “Holly, dear, just because we’re friendly with the Batman doesn’t mean I want you bringing his kids home.”

“Sorry, Ive, didn’t think you guys would be home this soon. Did you just get back?”

“A couple hours ago,” explained Poison Ivy as her plants dropped Jason onto the ground. “Ten days in the Caribbean was about nine days too long for me. Lucy enjoyed it, though.”

“Better than going to school for another week,” said the little girl, who Jason now recognized as Lucy Quinzel, as she walked over to the hyenas.

“That school doesn’t teach you anything that matters,” said Ivy as her ‘children’ returned to their vases. “Our world is getting closer to death’s door every day as humanity destroys the environment. You don’t need to know about Mayan civilization-- Lucy, let them go wake up Harley before you feed them. If they don’t do it, I’ll never get her up and we need to go sink that oil rig later.”

The redheaded girl hugged the hyenas before allowing them to race down the hall. After a few seconds, a shout of “My babies!” was heard and, a few moments later, Harley Quinn emerged from her bedroom wearing Looney Tunes pajamas. “Ah, man. Red, what time is--” The Joker’s former girlfriend stopped short as she viewed the house guest. “Oh…”

“Hi, Harley. Long time no see,” said Jason as he stood up.

The antihero now recognized that he was in the former base of the Gotham City Sirens. Pamela Isley and Harleen Quinzel had history with the Batfamily that spanned twenty years. As the supervillains Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn, they’d fought Batman and his allies countless times. Jason had his own fair share of encounters with the rogues during his tenure as Robin. Ivy was a metahuman who had the ability to control plant life. She cared a lot more about the environment than she did humanity. Harley had been the Joker’s psychiatrist at Arkham. He’d seduced her and she had become his partner in crime. Quinn had been the accomplice to Jason’s murder, which explained the awkward look she now had on her face. Following her breakup with the clown, Harley joined forces with Ivy and Catwoman to form a supervillain team called the Gotham City Sirens. Their life of crime had paid for these sweet digs of an apartment. During the Cataclysm, they’d turned to the side of the angels and shielded orphans in Robinson Park, creating a safe haven away from the chaos. For helping the city in its time of need, the Mayor had forgiven their prison sentences and put the three on parole. Selina had gotten closer to the Batfamily, Harley moved to Coney Island, and Ivy became the part-time protector of Robinson Park and full-time eco-terrorist (though she stopped maiming people in her defense of mother nature). The latter two had eventually gotten married and took to raising Harley’s kid, who Jason now remembered as Lucy Quinzel. The girl was also the daughter of the Joker, but thankfully, the clown had never been made aware of that fact. By the time Jason had returned to Gotham and gotten in the good graces of Batman again, all three of the former villains had become aware of his secret identity. Now, Ivy and Harley were serving as Selina’s bridesmaids in the goddamn Batman’s wedding. That one was so backward it would probably make Mister Freeze chuckle. And then there was Holly Robinson, the Maid of Honor. Jason knew there had been something fishy about her.

One thing was for sure, there was a ridiculous cast of characters packed into this ridiculously fancy kitchen.

“What uh… what brings you here, Ro- Jason?” said Harley, petting her infamous hyenas as Lucy prepared the animals’ food.

“Holly brought him,” explained Ivy.

“Ooh, did you bring Nightwing, too?” asked Harley in her Brooklyn accent as she fidgeted uncomfortably.

“No,” said Jason plainly, eyes on Holly, who had taken a seat at the kitchen table next to Lucy.

Quinn rubbed the back of her neck. “Man, I didn’t expect this. Look, uh… I’m sorry about everything that went down… all those years ago.”

“You mean when the Joker beat me to death with a crowbar and you recorded it for the whole city to see?” said Jason unapologetically, 

Poison Ivy held her hands up and walked away, clearly wanting to avoid that emotional baggage. Harley gulped. “When Mistah J and I was together, we did a lot of bad stuff. _I_ did a lot of bad stuff. But he was the reason for all of it. He… he did bad stuff to me, too. What happened with you… that’s what pushed me to really start getting away from Joker.”

Jason sighed. “I know. When I first came back to Gotham to… exact my revenge on your ex, I looked into what had become of the infamous Harley Quinn. I saw that you’d changed. I-- look, when I was with the Shadows, all I had to deal with was mind games. There was a woman there, Talia… she hurt me. I don’t pretend to know what it was like dealing with the Joker, but… I don’t blame you for what happened.”

Harley gave a weak smile, and for once in her life, she didn’t crack a joke. “Thank you.”

“Well with this delightful start to the morning out of the way, how about you stay for breakfast, _Red_?” offered Holly as she helped Ivy prepare pancakes. “Ive can apologize for stringing you up like dry cleaning with her delicious cooking.”

“Got anything vegan? I’m doing this diet thing,” asked Jason. Ivy gave him a look of malice and the potted plants almost seemed to bristle. “Kidding.”

* * *

> **Robinson Park, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Friday, June 17th, 2022, 10:10 EDT**

Jason hadn’t had much of an appetite for breakfast, but he’d awkwardly chatted with the women that he’d once considered deplorable villains. Once the plates had been cleared and Lucy had finished beguiling the room with her elaborate toy cars, Holly and Jason had been able to exit for a stroll in the park below.

“So you knew the whole time?” asked Jason as the pair walked past a fountain.

“Red isn’t a very clever pseudonym,” laughed Holly, “and I’d seen you before. More recently, I mean. When the Joker died. You were there and your helmet slipped off; it was just the domino mask.”

“I didn’t see you. Don’t tell me you’re one of those crazy vigilantes.”

“No,” admitted Holly as she came to a stop by a bench and sat down. “I do have a Catwoman costume, though. I’ve backed up Selina before and I was wearing it that night.”

Jason sat down next to her. “A second Catwoman, huh? Maybe Selina will need you to take over full-time, now that she’ll be busy with the baby.”

Holly scoffed. “Heh, I think I’m too old for that. My rooftop running days are behind me.” She glanced at Jason. “Don’t worry, I’m not _that_ old.”

Jason laughed. “The last girl I was with was in her three hundreds, so you probably can’t beat that.”

“Thankfully not. Sorry I didn’t come clean earlier, but you didn’t exactly trade me honesty. I guess I was curious. I know some of your story and I’ve heard about the new Red Hood in Park Row. I guess I just wanted to see what you were like.” Holly stared out across the park. They were right outside the parking lot. “Do you always use an alias?”

“Jason Todd is dead. I may be home, but… that life ended.” Jason smirked. “I do have a proper legal alias, though. Barbara Gordon helped me set up a new identity a few years ago. I said I didn’t care about what the name was and let her pick it. I’d made a mistake earlier that day, though.”

Holly raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

“I pissed her off.” Jason turned to face Holly and extended a hand. “Hi, my name is Oberon J. Sexton.”

“...Oberon J. Sexton?”

“The ‘J.’ makes it worse, doesn’t it?”

“It all sounds pretty bad to me,” said Holly. “So that’s you, huh? Oberon Sexton? If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll stick with Jason.”

Oberon J. Sexton smiled. “Fine by me.” He looked back at the park. “Aliases and lies. That’s the life I live now; the life of a ghost. But hey, beats being dead, and I know that from personal experience.”

“I can’t relate to resurrection,” admitted Holly, “but I’ve felt like a ghost my whole life. Maybe that’s what drew me to you.”

Jason nodded. “Lots of nameless in the East End, huh?”

“Orphans, homeless, downtrodden… people who have nowhere to go. That’s where I’m from. I may spend a lot of time in that swanky apartment and hanging with rich friends, but I’ll _always_ remember where I came from; who my people are. I know you subscribe to that philosophy, too. That’s why you’re doing what you’re doing in Park Row, right? I respect that.”

“There’s a lot of ghosts in Gotham,” said Jason, thinking. “A whole lot of action, but a startling lack of resolution. People go missing and their stories never get told. That’s all I am to Gotham. Another poor kid who died, charity case or not.”

Holly frowned. “Yeah, tell me about it. Even the dead aren’t safe. Y’know we’ve had multiple morgues go up in flames these past few weeks? All the bodies gone once firefighters cleared the place. No trace of ‘em. That’s a whole lot of people that’ll never be buried.”

Jason’s eyes darkened. Who the hell would want all those corpses? “Any leads?”

Holly shook her head. “Just another of Gotham’s fucked-up cases. Maybe we’ll inspire another SVU episode.”

Jason didn’t like the sound of what he was hearing. He’d have to investigate. It was a little far from home, but Batman sure as hell wasn’t gonna prioritize it. “Well, sounds like the East End has got the right person watching over it.”

“Ditto for Park Row. You’re doing good work, ghost or no.”

“So all a guy has to do to get a date with Holly Robinson is beat up a few drug pushers,” said Jason, smirking. “What gets me a second?”

Holly smiled. “Well--” she began, but stopped at the sound of glass breaking in the parking lot. The two of them got up and looked past the park exit. An early morning carjacker was fumbling around in a Honda Civic. “Trouble always seems to follow me in this goddamn city.”

“Trouble’s always there,” argued Jason, “you just have to wait for it.”

The pair strolled through the exit and over to the man, who heard their shoes on the broken glass and emerged from the vehicle. The carjacker blinked and threw down the iPod he’d snatched, pulling out a knife. “Scram, you two. I know how to use this.”

“Counteroffer,” said Jason, “you leave your wallet on the dash to pay for damages and walk away, and she won’t break the other one.”

“The other wha--AUGHH,” screamed the man as Holly expertly broke his knife-wielding arm. The weapon went scattering across the asphalt and the carjacker was left howling on the ground, Holly holding his other arm.

“How much you got?” asked Jason.

“I don’t h-have any--AUUUGH,” sobbed the criminal as Holly bent his left arm, threatening to break it. “OKAY, OKAY!” The carjacker motioned to his back pocket and Holly pulled out his wallet, grabbing the cash and dropping the rest on the ground.

She put the money in the driver’s seat and scattered some of the glass away. “Well, that was a fun mugging. Y’know, you’re asking a lot of a girl to just assume she can just break someone’s arm as part of a well-timed threat.”

“Sorry,” said Jason. “I work with these psychotic superheroes and that thing’s kind of standard protocol.”

The two of them continued out of the parking lot and down the street, headed back to the apartment. They stopped at a deli, with Holly greeting the owner and buying a newspaper.

“How’s business, Will?” she asked, flipping through the paper.

“Pretty shit, though we’re counting on a few more buyers tonight to catch the big show,” said the man, pointing to the television behind him.

“What’s the big show?” asked Jason. He didn’t really keep up with the modern pop culture hits.

The deli guy blinked. “Where the hell were you last night? It popped up on every screen.”

“Getting drunk-- wait, what popped up on every screen?”

The man turned around and flipped the television to the local GCN. Jack Ryder was being interviewed by Summer Gleeson. “And really, we have no way of knowing what Cluemaster has planned. He’s never done anything on this scale before and the credibility of this bomb threat simply can’t be ascertained at this time.”

Summer shifted her notes around before speaking. “These vigilantes that he’s taken captive, Cardinal and Spoiler, do you think he’d kill these heroes?”

“I think they provide incentive for the Batman to show up tonight. Whatever Brown has planned, he wants the Dark Knight to be in attendance. Once all the chips are on the board? The safety of these heroes can’t be guaranteed. Before his escape, Arthur Brown was serving a life sentence for the murder of one Chuck Lyle, along with his various other crimes. We know he’s capable of--” 

The deli guy shut the broadcast off and turned back to Jason. “Capes got kidnapped. It’s been all over the news.”

Jason glanced over at Holly, who was just as shocked as he was. “Well, we gotta run, Will,” she said. “Thanks again.”

The two of them ran back to the apartment, where Harley greeted them with “Robin #3 and the purple chick got kidnapped by that Riddler knockoff!”

“We know,” said Holly, guiding Jason back to her room where he retrieved his phone. Now fully charged, it showed dozens of messages from Bruce, Dick, Barbara, and other members of the Batfamily.

“Yeah, I’ve been summoned,” said Jason, grabbing his jacket.

“Does Batman just like… shoot you a text when there’s an emergency?”

Jason paused. “Honestly, kind of.”

“Well, I won’t keep you then,” said Holly. As Jason turned to leave, she called after him. “I’m sure your friends are gonna be fine. This Cluemaster sounds like a wet blanket. But if you need any help, just call me.” She handed him a note with her phone number on it.

Jason examined it before smirking. “I don’t suppose I could use this in a non-emergency capacity, could I?”

“That works too,” said Holly.

Jason slipped on his jacket and glanced back at Holly one last time. “Well then, I guess I’ll be seeing you.”

“Catch you later, Red.”

Waving goodbye to the Sirens, and stopping briefly to pet the hyenas, Jason slipped into the penthouse elevator and headed back down. He raced out of the building and down the back alley, where the antihero had stashed his prized motorcycle. It wasn’t the flashiest ride out there, but it was damn fast. Shooting onto the street like a bat out of hell--which was a very apt description for the former Robin--Jason dialed Scarlet as he started heading for the Batcave.

“Hey, kid, sorry I didn’t call sooner. I assume you heard about everything that happened?”

 _“Dа,”_ Scarlet answered. _“Your wheelchair friend called me in middle of the night, asking about you.”_

 _“Ms. Sexton, you can’t take phone calls during my class,”_ said Scarlet’s teacher. Jason remembered that she was in the middle of class still. Her lunch wasn’t till eleven.

 _“Иди на хуй!”_ Scarlet yelled, spewing a trademark Russian insult that Jason had no way of understanding, but he assumed it was anything but nice. He’d never had the ear for picking up languages that Bruce and Dick did. Jason really ought to learn Russian, though, considering who he lived with.

The man sounded defeated. _“Just… just take it outside please.”_

 _“Мудак,”_ she muttered, audibly walking out of the classroom.

“You in a secure location?” asked Jason.

_“Da. I take it you’ll be out for ze day?”_

“Yeah. I’m heading for the cave now. There’s plenty of food and beer in the fridge. Try not to empty it in one night. And if you see any more drug pushers--”

_“Break their balls. Yes, I know.”_

Jason smiled. “Talk to you soon.”

* * *

> **Kane County, NJ  
>  Friday, June 17th, 2022, 10:52 EDT**

“Honey, I’m home,” called Jason to the large cave, his voice echoing off the walls. He had his Red Hood helmet under one arm, which he’d grabbed on his way over, and he’d leaned his motorcycle up against the Batmobile.

“Master Jason,” greeted Alfred, peering down from the main platform as Jason made his way past the giant dinosaur, the Joker playing card, the glass-encased Robin costume he’d been wearing when he died, and a series of Batman’s other collectibles.

“We’ve been trying to reach you,” growled Bruce as Jason ascended the stairs and viewed the heroes gathered in front of the Batcomputer.

Bruce no doubt had everyone sweeping the city, but only him, Alfred, Dick, Barbara, Selina, Cass, and Damian were at home base.

“Phone was dead,” explained Jason, leaning up against a desk and crossing his arms as he viewed the rest of the family.

“Is that why?” asked Barbara, eyeing him with annoyance. Jason gave her a look.

“We’ve had agents searching the city,” said Bruce, turning to the monitor. “Cluemaster hacked into Gotham Radio Towers and boosted a signal, but we won’t be able to track it until the feed comes back on tonight. In the meantime, we’ve checked every known Cluemaster hideout, to no avail.”

“It seems like we’re gonna be without leads until the broadcast returns,” said Dick, standing. “No way of tracking our people or the bomb until then.”

Jason shifted his feet as he considered the situation. “Do we actually think Cluemaster would seriously injure or kill his own daughter?”

Barbara sighed. “We don’t know. They’ve fought pretty hard before and there’s no real love between them. We hope he’d never kill Stephanie, but there’s just no way to be sure. Plus, we can’t guarantee Tim’s safety.”

“Our priority right now is trying to deduce Cluemaster’s endgame and how our other leads tie into it,” said Bruce, who was scrolling through various tasks on the Batcomputer.

“Deathstroke?” asked Jason.

Cass nodded. “Penguin brought him in. They were both paid off by the same person or persons that are financing Cluemaster. There’s someone at the center of this.”

“If Slade was going to make an escape attempt, he’d do it while we were all distracted by Cluemaster’s ‘show’,” remarked Dick. “That’s what we’re all expecting.”

Bruce cursed as one of his search algorithms failed, before addressing his son once more. “Jason, I’m going to need you to go guard Deathstroke with Damian for the last shift. You'll be relieving Harper and Renee. More importantly, I want you to lead the Arkham escort tonight while the rest of us mount our rescue mission.”

Jason glanced absently at the cave before responding. “No.”

Bruce stopped and turned around in his chair. “No?”

“No,” confirmed Jason. “You’ve got plenty of people who can babysit Deathstroke. Shit, call in the League. Cass can take Damian to watch him till then. I know I’m the black sheep of our little ‘Batfamily’, but I’m not gonna sit on the sidelines while some C-lister holds Tim and the city hostage.”

Bruce sighed. “I don’t suppose you’d like to aid in the search while we wait for tonight?”

“How about I follow down a lead instead?” asked Jason.

“ _You_ have a lead?” asked Barbara, clearly questioning the validity of his claim.

“You guys say you checked all of Cluemaster’s former hideouts, right? What if you missed one?”

Damian shook his head. “Tt. We checked all the locations he operated out of during past crimes. If he did have another hideout, we have no way of knowing about it.”

Jason shrugged. “Maybe you haven’t asked around.”

“We’ve beat up a lot of people in the last twelve hours, all of them having connections to Cluemaster. They can’t give us anything useful,” said Cass.

“Maybe you didn’t ask the right guy.” Jason stood up and put on his helmet, heading down the stairs and back towards his bike. “You’d be surprised what people will share with their family.”

Dick laughed. “You don’t mean… Kite Man?”

“Hell yeah.”

* * *

> **Bristol, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Friday, June 17th, 2022, 11:16 EDT**

Stephanie Brown had a dad she didn’t like to talk much about. Her dad was a supervillain, and a pretty shitty one at that. But you had to be _real_ close with Stephanie to talk about her first cousin, once removed: Charlie Brown, also known as Kite Man. Now, a villain who is named both Charlie Brown and Kite Man shouldn’t require much explanation. He was an absolute joke who liked to say his name a lot. Tragically, however, Chuck Brown had a disheartening backstory. He’d just been a guy who loved kites, but loved his son even more. But when he got caught up in the middle of a conflict between Joker and the Riddler, the clown killed Chuck’s son. If there was one person who empathized with the Clown Prince of Crime screwing up your life, it was Jason. Chuck had turned his kiting hobby into a life of crime and began a years-long string of petty theft and high-flying antics. Eventually, he’d reformed and even gone on to head the Gotham branch of Wayne Aerospace. But in his criminal days, Kite Man had done more than a few jobs with his cousin Cluemaster, and there was a chance he could point Jason in the direction of his unredeemed relative.

Red Hood and Nightwing pulled up to the Wayne Aerospace backlot, making sure to avoid prying eyes and get inside as quickly as possible. It wasn’t exactly standard for vigilantes of the Batfamily to be out and about during lunchtime. Luckily, since they happened to be the prodigy of the company’s owner, Jason and Dick had the keycodes they needed to slip inside the building through the back. After a few moments of searching, they found who they were looking for. The aerospace engineer that had once dressed in green spandex and flown through bank windows on a kite was overseeing the transportation of a fighter jet. Wayne Enterprises dealt in lots of military contracts, and its aerospace division was no exception. 

“You Chuck Brown?” asked Red Hood.

“Hell yeah I am,” said the former villain before even turning around. Once he did, and he saw who he was talking to, Chuck’s expression changed. “Woah. Am I in some kind of trouble, guys?”

“You’re in the clear, Charles,” said Nightwing, stepping forward and raising his hands to show he meant no ill will. “We were just hoping you could lend us some information.”

“Of course. Let’s talk in my office.” Chuck led them past a series of workers, who stopped and gawked at the costumed vigilantes, and into a large office at the back of the main building. The room was cluttered with blueprints, machinery, and scraps of paper. “This is about Arthur, isn’t it?” asked the man, frowning.

“Afraid so,” said Nightwing. “We were wondering if you could give us intel on the bases you and your cousin used when you worked together back in the day?”

Chuck sighed and leaned back against the wall. “Ah, man. I’d have to check my records for all the details. We didn’t do too many jobs together erm-- ‘back in the day’. We had one spot near Chinatown. Gardner Street, I think. I know we worked out of another based on Soucie Lane. There was a Shadix, too…”

Nightwing glanced at Red Hood, frowning. None of this was news to them. “Your cousin has a bomb that could take out multiple city blocks and he’s holding our friends hostage,” said Red hood. “You gotta think harder, Chuck. We need places no one else would think to look. No one besides you and Cluemaster; that’s why we’re here.”

Chuck shook his head. “I gave the police all this information years ago. I know you’re friendly with the Major Crimes Unit. Give them a call and they should be able to help you out.”

Agitated, Jason raised his voice. “Not good enough, Chuck. We know about what the cops know about, hell, we know more. You’ve gotta give us new information.”

The former villain shook his head apologetically. “I’m sorry. The truth is we weren’t good enough criminals to have a slew of secret bases up our sleeves. Everything we used was out there.”

The antihero crossed the room, grabbing Chuck by the shoulders and forced him against the wall. There had to be one place they’d missed, one spot that Cluemaster would feel safe using. “Think, damn it. Even if you only used it briefly, there’s gotta be something we don’t know about.”

“Easy, Red,” warned Nightwing, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder.

Red Hood shrugged him off. “Come on, Chuck. We’ve checked the bases on Gardner, Shaddix Fox, Soucie, everywhere that’s known. Were there _any_ other bases that you and Cluemaster used when you worked together?”

Chuck shook his head vigorously for a moment, but then his eyes snapped open. “Yes! There was a base near the Dixon Docks, in Burnley, We used it briefly for one of our heists. The cops never traced it back to us.”

“Where?” asked Dick.

“Infantino Street,” said the former Kite Man. “Number 66.”

Jason let go of the man and took a step backward. Chuck flinched slightly, unsure if the vigilante was going to rough him up or not. Instead, Red Hood clasped his hand. “Thanks, Charlie. You may have just saved the city.”

Wiping sweat from his brow, Chuck nodded. “Happy to help. I hope you guys get him. Arthur deserves to get locked up and pay his dues. Maybe he’ll even get a chance at reform. I’d have never turned my life around if not for Mr. Wayne and the folks at Arkham.” As the heroes turned to leave, Chuck called after them. “Good luck. I… I hope your teammates will be okay. If it means anything, I don’t think Arthur would ever do that. He’s not the Joker.”

Nightwing smiled. “Thanks. Do us one last favor and just stay away from the kites.”

Chuck laughed. “Hell yeah.”

* * *

> **Burnley, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Friday, June 17th, 2022, 11:45 EDT**

“Your comms up?” asked Nightwing as he and Jason peered up at the former Cluemaster hideout.

“Yup,” confirmed Red Hood. “I go east, you go west?”

Dick nodded. “We meet in the middle.” 

With that, the two vigilantes set off to case the perimeter and see what they could determine from the outside of the building. Hopefully, Cluemaster wasn’t hiding any elaborate death traps in the place. Jason needed his happy hour before he’d have the patience to deal with that bullshit.

 _“Heh,”_ chuckled Nightwing over the line.

“You catch some stray Joker venom over there?” asked Red Hood, annoyed but not surprised by the senior hero’s laughter.

_“Just thinking about how quickly you jumped to help find Cardinal. It was only a couple years ago that you stopped calling him Replacement.”_

Now it was Jason’s turn to laugh. “I mean, he _was_ my replacement. And I sure stand by him being an _inferior_ Robin, but… the kid’s smart, and I respect him. No matter how much T-- Cardinal annoys me, I’d never let some punk-ass C-lister take him out.”

Red Hood hopped up the fire escape and began peering into the building’s dusty windows. _“You think they’re in real danger?”_ asked Nightwing.

Jason frowned. “Eh, we’re always in danger. I don’t know if being held hostage by Cluemaster ups that factor much, but… it’s just that this whole damn thing stinks. I’m not that worried about Cluemaster, but I am worried about whoever hired him.”

 _“I hear that,”_ said Dick. _“How are things looking on your end?”_

“Looks clean from the outside,” replied Red Hood. “No sign of trouble from the exterior buildings. Scanners aren’t picking up any nasty surprises inside, either.”

_“O sent me the specs on this place. Checks out. Let’s head in.”_

“Way ahead of you,” said Jason, prying open a loose window and stepping inside. 

The building was fairly dirty and grimy. It hadn’t been fully used in some time, but there were signs of activity by the door and in the center of the room. A group of tables held a cluttered mess of items near the front. Red Hood and Nightwing met up by the nearest table, noting the disturbance of dust.

“Bingo,” said Red Hood. “Someone’s been here, in the last couple of days, at least.”

Nightwing didn’t answer. Jason looked up. The slightly older vigilante had a goofy grin on his face. “Look at us,” he said. “We’re working together at last. I know it’s been a rough journey and you’ve got your own thing going on downtown, but… you should answer our calls more. Work with the team.”

Jason tried to suppress his grin, but failed. Luckily, the helmet masked him. “Yeah, yeah, just don’t try to hug me. I’ve never been a team player like you, Wingding, but… I’m always here when you need me.”

“Unless you’ve got a pretty lady in your bed, apparently.”

“Moving on,” said Red Hood, pushing past his adoptive brother to examine the supplies on the table. “Is this some kind of workshop?”

Nightwing examined the array of equipment on the table. There were saws, drills, zip ties, and a whole other mess of crap. “Was he building something?”

“Set dressing,” noted Jason as he spotted a sign face down on another table. It had the title _Think, Thank, Thunk_ displayed across the board in bold lettering. “This is our guy.”

“Don’t see our people here, though,” said Nightwing, frowning. “Maybe he prepared the sets here but is hosting the show somewhere else.” He scoffed. “Probably not extravagant enough for the great Cluemaster. I bet the bomb was here, too.”

“My helmet’s picking up traces of Ammonium nitrate,” confirmed Red Hood as he moved through the evidence. “The bomb was at this building within the last twenty-four hours.”

“Well, shit. We should’ve called Kite Man sooner. And that is one sentence I never thought I’d say.”

“There’s something else here,” said Jason, noticing a weathered journal among the scraps and cluttered papers. He opened it to find page after page of Arabic text; thankfully, that was one language he had learned from his time with the League of Shadows. As Jason began to read through the bookmarked page, his expression darkened. _No._ “Shit.”

Nightwing glanced up. “What is it?”

Red Hood slid the journal across the table to him. “Read the top of the page.”

Dick read for a moment. “...Cluemaster’s after a Lazarus Pit?”

“Yeah and Kite Man’s the world’s greatest supervillain,” said Jason, rolling his eyes. “Cluemaster isn’t after one, but whoever’s bankrolling him is.”

“Ra’s ordered all the Pits destroyed before he was taken,” said Nightwing, confused. “We learned all the locations; we confirmed they were contaminated and burned.”

Red Hood’s fists tightened. “I don’t know, but I’m less concerned with how they’re getting access to a Pit than I am with _why_ they want one. Even when you take the whole resurrection business off the board, those chemicals still have dangerous properties. That’s where Bane derived his Venom formula from.”

“This is bad,” said Nightwing, his face grim. “We should let the big guy know—“

“Shh!”

“What—“

Jason held a finger to Dick’s lips and pointed behind him. The other hero turned and followed Red Hood’s line of sight. There was a false door towards the back of the building, which had been left closed enough to avoid their initial once-over of the place, but was still visible. More importantly, coming from behind the false entryway were faint voices. Nightwing pulled out his escrima sticks while Red Hood pulled out his guns, only to a minor disapproving glare from the fellow vigilante. The two moved across the room swiftly but silently, edging the door open and peering inside. A staircase led down into what seemed to be the sewer. Letting Dick go first, Jason stepped down the stairs and landed on the grimy sewer floor below, careful not to splash in any water and make unwanted noise. The stairs had put the two heroes at a sewer junction, with the voices echoing from around the corner. Red Hood slowly peered around the bend, where he found the oddest sight he’d ever seen in a sewer, and for his line of work, that was saying something. Five men dressed in hook-nosed, white, wooden masks stood around a man who was somehow dressed even stranger, with some kind of full-body bird costume. The bird-man was addressing the others.

“It may be a bold new direction, but I promise you, gentlemen, the Gotham we’re building is the paradise we’ve worked towards for centuries,” said the leading man.

“Very well,” said one of the masked men. “Just remember that the status quo exists for a reason. Don’t let your grand mission blind you to that.”

The costumed man nodded. “We’ll meet again tomorrow. Tonight is the first step.”

As the men began to disperse down the sewer corridor, Nightwing leapt into action. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I was invited to a cult meeting down here, but I think it took a wrong turn at Junction B6. Care to enlighten me on what yours does?”

The costumed man looked at the pair of vigilantes and smiled. “A welcome surprise.” He turned back to his masked friends. “Go, I’ll handle this.”

“No need, it’s handled,” quipped Red Hood as he aimed his guns—filled with exclusively rubber bullets—at that escaping crowd. Before he could fire, the costumed man sent projectiles spinning at Jason’s weapons. One sliced his right gun in two. Worse, the other stuck in the barrel of his left gun as the antihero clicked the trigger, exploding the clip and breaking his left hand in the process.

Cursing, Red Hood stumbled backward as the villain jumped forward to subdue him, but was stopped by Nightwing. “What the hell are you supposed to be anyway?” asked Dick as he swung his escrima sticks.

As the masked men escaped around a corner at the end of the sewer corridor, they called out: “Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time…”

Smiling, the costumed man braced one of Nightwing’s weapons against his arm and grabbed the other one before spinning it back into the hero with expert skill. This guy was good. “You can call me Owlman,” said the villain, smirking.

“Owlman, huh?” noted Dick as he dodged a blow and countered with his own strike. “Of all the animal-themed heroes and villains in this city, I don’t think we’ve ever had an ‘Owl-man’. I commend the creativity.”

Red Hood gathered himself and charged at the villain, but Owlman spun around and kicked him backward. “I didn’t know owls hung around in sewers,” said Jason through gritted teeth as he pulled out his knife and tried to press the villain backward.

“Oh, there’s plenty you don’t know about me,” said Owlman, still sporting his sickly smirk. “And there’s plenty I know about you.”

 _I don’t like the way that sounds,_ thought Red Hood as he tried to fight the man one-handed.

“Any reason you were so close to Cluemaster’s hideout? Or is that just some funny coincidence?” asked Nightwing, glancing a blow off the villain’s owl-themed cowl.

“You like to talk, don’t you?” noted the villain. “All your questions will be answered tonight, my friend. It’s the big show, after all.” With one spinning kick, both Nightwing and Red Hood were sent recoiling as the villain backed away. “Nine o’clock, gentlemen. Don’t be late.” With that, the villain stepped towards the sewer wall and... vanished?

“Did he disappear _into_ the sewer wall?!” yelled Nightwing, glancing around for the attacker and trying to get his bearings.

Jason slid down the wall and clutched his broken hand. He knew that the men were all long gone. Lazarus Pits, secret benefactors, the Court of Owls. What the hell was happening to this city? Jason dialed the main comm line. “Batman. We need backup at 66 Infantino Street. We’ve got ourselves a fucking problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pieces are beginning to fall into place! Nine hours until Cluemaster’s big show hits, and all this teasing will finally begin to pay off. Next week, we’ll be diving into the head of one of our last POV characters, and one of my favorites to write: Damian Wayne. If this story tickles your fancy in any way, please leave a comment as it helps to motivate my fragile ego. Catch you next week; same bat time, same bat channel.


	11. Legacy

> **Burnley, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Friday, June 17th, 2022, 12:00 EDT**

Damian Wayne was not happy. Drake and Brown had gotten themselves kidnapped by some insignificant villain he had barely even heard of. The Titans continued to reject Damian’s leadership, meaning that a personal army he could completely control was a ways down the road. Mar’i presence at the manor continued to serve as a constant annoyance. Now, to make matters worse, Grayson and Todd may have let slip the only lead to tracking down their captured allies. As was typical, the son of Batman had to fix everything.

“We’re on sight,” said Father as he pulled the Batmobile up outside the warehouse. Behind them, Cain and Kane followed in their own car.

_ “We’re waiting inside,”  _ replied Grayson over the communicator as the Dynamic Duo headed in through a broken window. 

Red Hood had been following a minor lead when he and Nightwing had apparently stumbled upon a truckload of evidence and a formidable combatant. Inside the warehouse, dust and empty crates gave way to a couple of scattered folding tables in the middle. Atop them were scattered various files, scraps of paper, cardstock, craft tools, and screws. It was like a cross between a cluttered office and a disastrous art project. Todd was sitting against the farthest table, bandaging the broken hand he’d mentioned. Grayson was inspecting a hidden entrance on the far wall, which had also been mentioned in the call.

“You really hit the jackpot, huh?” said Kane, picking up one of the files on the table.

“Something sure hit us,” said Todd, sighing as he faced the other vigilantes.

Batman turned to Nightwing. “The masked men completely vanished?”

Grayson nodded. “Gone in a flash. No sign of them for miles of sewer. One of the stranger things I’ve seen. Either they all can teleport or there’s some kind of secret entrance down there. I gave it a quick once-over, but we’ll need to do a proper sweep.”

Nodding, Father turned to Kane. “Batwoman, go with Nightwing and see if the sonic mapping device can pick up any structural weaknesses near where the men disappeared.” Nodding, the pair went to retrieve it from the Batmobile. The Dark Knight turned to Red Hood. “Report.”

Todd sighed. “Nothing’s changed much since I told you over the comms. Kite Man pointed us to this hideout; journals on the tables talk about the search for a Lazarus Pit; there’s evidence of Cluemaster preparing his show here; the secret door leads down to the sewers. Masked men calling themselves the Court of Owls were meeting with an armored ally, who called himself Owlman. He seems to be in league with Cluemaster, and let us know that the little shit will be going live at nine.”

The fifth and best Robin considered this news. “These masked men--the Court of Owls--we think that’s referencing the nursery rhyme?” Damian had heard it a time or two since coming to Gotham.

“Undoubtedly,” said Batman. “The Court has been one of Gotham City’s local legends for over a century, but I’ve discovered evidence of their existence before.” Father frowned. “What about this ‘Owlman’. Anyone we know?”

Red Hood shook his head. “Someone new, at least as far as Nightwing or myself knows. He was good, though. Well-trained.  _ Very _ well-trained. Fought us one to two like it was nothing.”

“What about the Lazarus Pit?” asked Cain.

“Ra’s doesn’t often go halfway,” said Todd, glancing at Damian, “but it’s possible he saved one last pit for himself. Whether that’s a delusion of grandeur or not, whoever’s employing Cluemaster is after it.”

“Grandfather may very well have saved a Lazarus Pit,” said Damian, pondering. “Either way, if this Court of Owls does control Gotham, like the legend says, or just holds power in the city, they could be behind Cluemaster.”

“I’m skeptical of how far this Court’s reach actually extends, but them being at least involved with Cluemaster’s plot is a given,” said Father. “This Owlman could be their leader.” Batman tapped his communicator. “Oracle, I need you to run a trace for any relevant Court of Owls intelligence.”

_ “Already running,”  _ said Gord-- Grayson.  _ “I put the footage of Owlman from Nightwing’s cowl into the facial recognition software, too, but the face is too obscured.” _

“Cross-reference the identifiable attributes of this man with the wealthiest candidates in Gotham,” suggested Robin.

_ “Already on that, too.” _

“Tt.”

“Bats,” said Red Hood, speaking up suddenly. “This Lazarus Pit business. If Ra’s isn’t behind it… how many people really know about them? When I was with the Shadows, that stuff was pretty hush hush.”

Batman frowned. “We can never know for sure. The Shadows’ list of enemies and allies stretches far and wide. The answers to the Lazarus search, getting ahead of Cluemaster, finding out the truth about this Owlman -- they all seem to tie into this Court of Owls.”

Mockingbird noted the time on her watch. “Less than seven hours till Deathstroke is moved, nine until Cluemaster broadcasts again.

“I doubt we’ll get all our answers by then,” said Father, “but we need to track down all the leads we can and stay one step ahead of whoever’s behind this.”

_ “My traces are done,”  _ said Oracle.  _ “No clear suspect for Owlman, but I can send over the list.” _

“A problem for another day,” announced Batman, turning to help Todd and Cain gather the evidence in various forensics bags. “What about Court of Owls locations?”

Oracle sighed.  _ “Too many. It’s a popular legend with a lot of fans and very little validity.” _

The Dark Knight growled. “Send them over anyway. We’ll start checking them out.” He looked over at Red Hood. “You should head back to the cave to get treatment for that hand.”

Todd shook his head. “I’ll go to the clinic. I’ve gotta check in on Scarlet anyway.”

Damian’s father turned to face his true son. “Robin, we’ll start working on the nearby locations from Oracle’s list. At 16:00 hours, you and Mockingbird will head to guard Deathstroke.”

“No,” said Damian angrily. “I have more field experience than Batgirl or Flamebird. Send them to guard Wilson. We’re partners, I should be in the field, too.”

Batman glared at him. “That was an order, Robin. We need the well-trained guarding Deathstroke; he’s still the most dangerous threat in Gotham.”

“Fine,” said the Boy Wonder through gritted teeth. Three years of being Batman’s partner and yet Damian felt that he was losing more and more power as time went on.

Oracle radioed out to the other ‘Batfamily’ members and sent them all after the different Court of Owls points of interest around the city. Damian only hoped that his father wouldn’t get in the way.

* * *

> **Chinatown, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Friday, June 17th, 2022, 14:29 EDT**

_ “Might as well check this spot next,”  _ said Oracle.  _ “Seems like a simple conspiracy theorist group, but we might as well listen in while we’re here.” _

“More zealots,” sighed Damian as they pulled up to a small building in Chinatown. 

For two hours, the Dynamic Duo had tracked anything remotely linked to the Court of Owls in the Diamond District, Old Gotham, and now Chinatown. Most of it had been novelty get-togethers, conspiracy meet-ups, or just complete dead ends. They were grasping at straws as the minutes counted down towards nine o’clock. Robin’s grumbles were ignored by Batman as the two scaled the side of the building. After scanning the surroundings and making sure there were no nasty surprises waiting inside, the two vigilantes entered through a ventilation shaft. They made their way to a small room on the second floor, where they crouched behind some tables and surveyed the scene. Four men were gathered around in a circle. Behind them was a whiteboard with several drawings of owls on it.  _ Of course. _

One of the men was speaking. “So as we discussed last week, the Court of Owls has been making rules recently. We’ve already agreed that they control the Mayor’s Office and the GCPD, but the biggest question is whether or not Batman is in league with them.”

“I say no,” said another conspiracy theorist. “The group is well aware of my thoughts on the whole Bat-dilemma. You can’t tell me that’s just one guy. I mean all the crazy stuff that’s gone down over the years? Nah. For that, you need a team, and no way the Court’s got a half-dozen Batmen working for them.”

“Plus, the guy would be way too old by now,” said a third man.

“Well, hold on a minute,” noted the original speaker. “Tom Cruise plays Batman in the movies and he’s sixty. Does all the stunts himself.”

The second man shook his head. “Nah, they got you played, bro. Tom Cruise is  _ one of them _ . No way he could pull off those moves if he wasn’t a Batman.”

“Come on, man, we’re g--getting off-topic,” said the last theorist, speaking up. “The Court is the real problem in this city.” The man was hunched over and his behavior was erratic. He was obviously under the influence of strong narcotics.

Oracle chuckled over the comms.  _ “Tom Cruise  _ _ is _ _ Batman. Don’t think I’ve heard that one before. Gotta write it down…” _

The fourth man was still speaking, shaking as he did. “T--the owls. They come in the night a-- and they take our dead. You hear about the bodies disappearing from the East End? It’s them. I’m sure of it!”

“Easy there, Ronny,” said one of the others. “The Court is the wealthiest of Gotham putting the city under their thumb. They create dead bodies, they don’t steal them.”

Ronny shook his head. “I--I saw it! The Court. They’re always w--watching.” At that moment, Robin shifted his weight onto one of the wooden boards and it creaked loudly.  _ Christ.  _ Ronny stood abruptly. “Beware the Court of Owls! That watches all the time!” He drew a gun.

The other men quickly stood up and backed away. The original speaker raised his hands. “Jesus, man! Put that away.”

Not waiting a second longer, Damian burst into action, popping out from his hiding spot and throwing a Batarang at Ronny. “There they are!” cried the intoxicated man as he stumbled out of the room and down the stairs.

“Robin!” shouted Batman, but Damian was already gone, jumping down the flight of stairs and chasing the man out into the street. The two of them raced down the muddy sidewalk as noises of a crowd arose from the street ahead. Damian had to stop him before he got to civilians.

Sensing the footsteps behind him, Ronny glanced back and attempted to raise his arm in a defensive gesture. “Wa--wait!”

It was too late. Damian was on him in a second, pummeling the man to the ground and wrestling the weapon out of his grip. When the man tried to throw Robin off, the Boy Wonder broke his nose and knocked him unconscious. Robin’s fists clenched and unclenched. The man was on the ground, bloody, his weapon off to the side. He was on the street in a heap. Damian gathered himself and turned to face Batman, whose eyes were on the man.

Robin tapped his comm. “Oracle, what’s the next stop on the list.”

“Enough,” said the Dark Knight, his powerful voice echoing off the clumped buildings.

“Enough?” asked Robin, his face incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”

“You’ll head back to the cave with Mockingbird, clean yourself up, and go watch Deathstroke. At seven, you’ll oversee his escort while the rest of us follow up on Cluemaster.”

Damian couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “This scum,” said Robin as he kicked the man,” will be fine. He pulled a weapon, I saved lives. What’s the problem?”

“ _ You  _ are the problem,” said Batman, his voice ice cold. “For months you’ve been needlessly combative and uncooperative. You lash out and you don’t follow orders. This was the third time you disobeyed my instructions in the past day. I’ve been doing this for almost four times as long as you’ve been alive. We’re partners, yes, but you defer to my judgment. That’s what saves lives. If we can’t work together, then you can’t wear that symbol on your chest.” The Dark Knight radioed on his comm. “Mockingbird, bring your car to Chinatown, I need you to pick up Robin.”

“You’re benching me?!” yelled Damian. “For doing what you trained me to do? Now I have to go watch Deathstroke all night instead of saving  _ our _ team? You need me!”

“We seem to have gotten along just fine without you for twenty years,” said Father.

“But--”

“Go home, son. That’s an order.”

* * *

> **Kane County, NJ  
>  Friday, June 17th, 2022, 15:15 EDT**

The bats in the cave stirred as the Batmobile came to a screeching halt on the vehicle platform. Damian gave a “Tt” as he hopped out of the car’s passenger side, peeling off his gloves.

“Don’t go far,” said Cain. “Bandage yourself up and grab something to eat. We head out in fifteen.”

“Fine,” replied Damian, rolling his eyes as he peeled off his domino mask.

The son of Batman took off his cape and headed up to the main platform. After scarfing down some cereal and patching up a few small cuts and bruises, Damian turned to survey the cave. Cain was over at the Batcomputer, talking with Oracle and Pennyworth. Most of the other vigilantes were still tracking down the various leads throughout the city. As the fifth Robin took in the sights of the daunting cave, his Great Dane, Titus, trotted over to say hello. Damian had named the dog after Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus. The Boy Wonder had always had a fondness for animals in his youth. Grandfather had kept a rare menagerie of exotic and supposedly extinct animals that he’d saved over the centuries. Since coming to Gotham, Damian had gained a dog in Titus and a cat in Alfred. Oh, and of course he had his dragon, but Robin kept Goliath at Titans Tower.

Titus trotting at his side, Damian walked over to the display of costumes from across the Batman’s history. The glass cases stood the test of time, showcasing every era of the Batfamily legacy. From Grayson’s earliest Robin costume, to the suits first worn by Drake and Brown, to the latest outfits of Batman, Robin, and Batgirl. As the current Boy Wonder viewed the rack of legacies, he couldn’t help but ponder his own history. Damian Wayne had been the product of a complicated history between Batman and Ra’s al Ghul, the leader of the League of Shadows. It had become known as a terrorist organization, and though Damian had long since recognized the injustice of his grandfather’s legion, that term was an oversimplification. The Shadows sought to protect and maintain balance in the world, even when that meant killing criminals en masse. Years ago, Ra’s had considered Batman a worthy successor and lured the vigilante to his home of Nanda Parbat by kidnapping Dick Grayson. The Dark Knight’s undying aptitude for thwarting evildoers and defending the innocent made Batman an attractive heir to Damian’s grandsire, and thus Ra’s al Ghul’s daughter Talia had gotten close to the hero. Though Bruce Wayne preached justice, not vengeance, and denied the Shadows, he and Talia began an on and off relationship. In their final, passionate moment together, the couple’s union spawned Damian. However, the Shadows had kept his existence a secret from Batman.

For ten years, Damian had trained under the harshest teachers imaginable so that he would one day be ready to take over the reins from his grandfather. The future Boy Wonder had climbed mountains as a toddler and killed men as a boy. Damian had learned advanced physics and mathematics just as proficient as he had the kill points of a human body. The young heir had barely learned of his father’s origins when Tim Drake brought the entire League of Shadows crashing down after a deep-cover mission to topple Ra’s al Ghul’s empire. As a last favor to Talia, Bruce had agreed to save Damian from the mass arrests and get to know his newly-discovered son. Though the Batman had collected a menagerie of orphans and outcasts over the years, only Damian was the blood son. Perhaps it was this notion that had caused the heir of a fallen regime to turn to his father’s side for a legacy to take up. Choosing the role of Robin, Damian had fought to prove himself for months before he was considered part of the team, and still had to fight for his place to this very day. Even though he possessed years of experience and training that many of Father’s adopted children lacked, Damian was still considered lesser. Still, as Robin, he’d learned to carve out a path for himself and fight for ideals that he truly believed in.

The current Robin eyed the vast array of history in the various costumes and armor. He caught sight of an early Nightwing suit. Grayson was Batman’s first son. He’d been Robin for years before Damian was even born. Grayson’s skills rivaled his father’s in almost every way, and he’d been a worthy instructor during the period when Damian had served as a Robin to his Batman. Nevertheless, Grayson didn’t want to be Batman, not on any permanent basis anyway. Next was Todd. A troubled soul who’d seen both life and death in a few short years, Father’s second adopted son made a point to keep to his own path and often avoid the rest of the family. Then there was Cain. She had history with the Shadows, too, given how her father had originally raised her to be the ultimate bodyguard of Ra’s. Her skill and combat prowess was undeniably, and Damian had immense respect for her, but the woman had other duties in mind. Drake had been a rival of Damian’s since he first arrived in Gotham, given how the former Robin had been the key ingredient in the downfall of everything the blood son believed in. Over time, their relationship had improved, though neither of them was particularly fond of the other. Still, Damian respected him. At the end of the day, all his siblings’ life paths simply divulged away from what was right in front of them. The mantle of the Batman. That was Damian’s legacy to bear. He understood it wouldn’t happen overnight, and that there was a long journey ahead, but Damian knew that he would wear the cowl one day. But how was he to rise to the occasion when Father refused to allow his Robin to spread his wings? Now Damian would have to spend the night as Deathstroke’s prison escort while Cluemaster held the whole city hostage. 

And then there was Kyle. Damian was not so naive as to misunderstand that the romantic relationship between his father and Selina Kyle stretched back longer than the one between Batman and Talia al Ghul. It was not the fact that a different woman than his mother was set to wed his father that riled Damian up, it was the unfortunate reality of what he knew would happen. There was one reason that the relationship between Batman and Catwoman had lasted for so long: the chase. It was the thrill of the thief and the crusader that had kept the embers of their romance aflame for decades. Both of them were orphans who had tried for years to build themselves lives where they could be happy, and they’d succeeded. But in trying to settle down, it would never work. Bruce Wayne needed his misery, Selina Kyle needed her thrill, and they both needed the chase. The two would grow apart, and Damian knew that it would destroy his father, and with that, the Batman. He couldn’t let that happen.

“Time to go!” called Cain from the Batcomputer terminal as she headed back towards the Batmobile.

Acknowledging her with a brief wave of his hand, Damian continued to look up at the costumes. So much was at stake and the Boy Wonder would be remiss to sit on the sidelines. Both the Dark Knight and the League of Shadows had agreed on one thing: there was injustice in the world, and the only way to combat it was with its polar opposite. Damian stared into the lenses of the Batman cowl. This was his city. His responsibility. His legacy. He’d lock up Deathstroke for good, save Drake, and get to the bottom of whatever was going on in Gotham. Once again, the son of Batman would fix everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Damian is truly a national treasure. Despite his arrogance, the little guy has a big heart, and I’m excited to dive into his character more in the coming chapters. Next week, we’ll be returning to Cass’ POV as the countdown to Cluemaster’s climactic show draws near. If this story interests you in any way, please leave a comment as it helps to motivate my fragile ego. Catch you next week; same bat time, same bat channel.


	12. Friends

> **Old Gotham, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Friday, June 17th, 2022, 14:32 EDT**

Though she took her name from a songbird, Mockingbird watched silently as the bikers jeered and chatted below. It wasn’t often that Cassandra Cain slipped into her vigilante persona in the middle of the afternoon, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Less than seven hours remained until Cluemaster would broadcast his deadly game show, where the fates of Cardinal, Spoiler, and a deadly bomb would rest upon the ability of the Batfamily to save them. Their only lead was a connection to the fabled Court of Owls, a nursery rhyme that concerned an ever-watching secret society. The biker gang that Mockingbird currently had her eyes on used the Court nomenclature as their name and insignia. A flimsy connection at best, but the options were limited and time was running out.

“Hey, Benny,” called one of the bikers as he finished off a beer can. “You hit that shoe store up on Highlander Street yet?”

The other man shook his head. “Nah. Was gonna do it tonight.”

The first biker laughed. “Ah, quit being lazy. The city never sleeps and we’ve got work to do. You should get to it now.”

“Fine, fine. I’m on my way, old man.”

As the younger biker made his way off to a side room, Mockingbird eyed the crowd. There appeared to be eight men in the warehouse, some drinking and chatting while a couple of others worked on their motorcycles. Low-lifes engaged in simple racketeering, probably trying to carve out a name for themselves in the ever-changing criminal landscape of Gotham City. Mockingbird tip-toed along the rafters as she followed the biker into an offshoot wing. The man was slipping on his coat as he reached for a small gun on the table. The vigilante dropped down behind him, careful not to alert the bikers elsewhere in the warehouse, and snaked her arm under the criminal’s chin and placed her other hand over his mouth. She pulled it tightly around the man’s throat as she began to efficiently cut off the flow of oxygen from his body. After a few moments, the biker collapsed. The hero paused to make sure the man was still breathing. She always checked.

Mockingbird made her way to the corner of the wing and peered into the rest of the warehouse. Seven left. Careful to make the right amount of noise, she kicked the leg of a nearby table, causing a plate to come smashing to the ground.

“You alive over there, Benny?” called one of the bikers at the sound of the crash. When no response from their friend came, the man stood up. “I’ll check it.”

The biker whistled as he walked over to the offshoot of the warehouse. As he rounded the corner, Mockingbird stepped in behind him and brought her hand swiftly into the back of the man’s neck. Hard enough to temporarily interrupt blood flow to the brain and knock him out, but not hard enough to cause serious damage. She’d learned how to vary the strength of her blows long ago. The man fell and smashed straight through the wooden table Mockingbird had kicked earlier. That was sure to cause some alarm. Moving quickly, the vigilante scampered up the wooden siding and back into the rafters. As men rushed to the end of the warehouse, Mockingbird made a beeline for the opposite part. By the motorcycles, the two men who had been repairing the bikes had stirred. One was racing to join the others while another leaned up from where he was working, sprawled out on the floor. Dropping down, Mockingbird threw a small grapple cable out at the bike the man was working on. One the line had found its mark, the hero pulled the motorcycle down on top of the biker, incapacitating him. 

The nearest man was already turning at the sound of the nearby commotion, but Mockingbird threw a small flashbang canister at his feet. It erupted, blasting the biker’s eyes and ears while the vigilante’s cowl protected hers. She grabbed a heavy bike stand from the ground and threw it at the man, knocking him to the ground. The final four were bewildered to be caught between two attacks, but quickly surmised what was happening.

“It’s Batgirl!” cried one of the bikers as they reached for their weapons.

_Once_ , reflected Mockingbird as she fired her grapple gun towards the rafters with her right hand, rolling smoke pellets across the floorboards with her left. She retreated to the shadows as gas filled the room below and bullets fired absently into the warehouse wall. Taking advantage of the bikers’ confusion, Mockingbird fired another grapple line and swung back around, knocking two of the men through a weak wall and into the room beyond it. A gun emerged from the smoke and she grabbed it, forcing the weapon into the air and kicking the wind out of the biker holding it. She leapt through the air and landed atop the man, knocking him unconscious with a blow to the skull.

Sensing imminent danger, the last man decided to make a break for it, darting out of the warehouse entrance and down the sidewalk at a breakneck pace. Luckily for Mockingbird, he wasn’t as fast as her Batarang. Satisfied, the vigilante turned back to enter the building once more, eager to slip back into the shadows and see what answers she could glean. However, she found herself staring at another biker and his knife, which was pointed only inches away from her face. She’d missed one.

“Not so quick now, are ya, Bat-chick?” said the man, laughing.

Mockingbird studied the biker intently. Her earliest memories were of learning how to read people. To know their feelings and to anticipate their attacks. The hero knew how to turn this situation around. The man was chuckling bitterly, taking his time as he calmed down and began to savor the moment, thinking himself in control of the situation. Without hesitation, Mockingbird darted her right arm out, grabbing his knife-wielding wrist as she brought her other fist directly below the man’s sternum in a punch. At the same time, she cracked her foot out into the biker’s left kneecap. This threw him off balance while allowing her to take control of the close-range weapon. The man crumpled as she sent the knife flying.

Needing answers, Mockingbird took advantage of the situation by pulling her grapple line tight around the biker’s waist. She fired the gun into the air, the hook catching on the warehouse roof. The vigilante pulled herself through the air, hoisting the man up with her. Mockingbird pulled the line tight around the railing and grabbed the terrified biker by the foot, yanking him up so she could gaze directly into his eyes. 

“Wh-- what do you want?!” cried the man.

Mockingbird had learned long ago that the most intimidating thing you could say in these situations was nothing at all. She let her threat hang in the air… literally.

“This is about J-- Jerry, isn’t it? We paid him what was agreed on, it’s not my fault the cut was lower than he wanted.”

The vigilante let the man’s terror reflect in her mask’s white lenses as she waited for something she could use.

“What?! Is it about those drugs? I told Dante we didn’t steal their shit,” yelled the biker.

Mockingbird sighed. “Cluemaster.”

“Cluemaster?” asked the man, confused. “We ain’t got nothing to do with that nut. Shit, that broadcast surprised us as much as it surprised you.”

The hero tapped the man’s jacket, indicating the Court of Owls’ name and insignia on the lapel.

“Oh, come on! That shit?! We just stole it from the nursery rhyme. ‘Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time.’ We deal in extortion. Shit makes sense,” yelled the biker, flailing to get out of the smaller woman’s impossible grip.

Mockingbird eyed the man carefully, watching his microexpressions for any sign of a lie. Sadly, he was telling the truth. _Another dead end._

Without saying a word, the hero let the grapple line slip and the biker fell, screaming as he plummeted towards the earth. After twenty feet or so, the cable pulled taut, and the man swung back, smacking into the side of the warehouse and being knocked unconscious.

There was commotion on the streets below as people gathered around the unconscious bikers and stared up at the hero. Distant sirens blasted as the police responded to the sounds of gunfire. Eager to keep out of the spotlight, especially in the middle of the day, Mockingbird backed away from the ledge and fired her grapple gun once more, swinging to the next street over. As she darted across the roof and leapt onto the next building, the vigilante dialed the Network.

_“Status?”_ asked Batman over the communication line. 

Mockingbird came to a stop before answering. “Another dead end. I should have time to check out another lead or two before heading to the station.”

The Dark Knight sighed. _“Negative. Head to my location. I need you to pick up Robin and then head back to the cave. Bring Oracle up to speed and then go to guard Deathstroke.”_

“Understood,” said Mockingbird, hanging up the line before typing in Batman’s coordinates to the console on her arm.

As the hero prepared to start heading towards Chinatown, she caught sight of a shadowed figure watching her from a nearby office building. Her father, David Cain. _More ghosts_ , thought Mockingbird bitterly as she closed her eyes and shook her head. Red Hood had said that the visions would get less vivid as time went on, and they had been… at least until her father reared his ugly head again.

David Cain was one of the few to escape the League of Shadows takedown in 2019. He was one of the most wanted men in the world, and rightly so, as he was one of the most dangerous assassins alive. Mockingbird laying eyes on her father here, in Gotham, should be cause for alarm. She should be calling in the Justice League, if that’s what it took to stop him. But she didn’t. That was because Cassandra Cain knew all too well that David Cain wasn’t really there.

It was during Tim Drake’s deep-cover infiltration of the League of Shadows that he did all he could to earn the trust of Ra’s al Ghul. The Demon’s Head needed to truly believe that Batman’s son had turned. This meant staged assassinations, secret contact with the rest of the Batfamily, and tests to prove himself. For his final challenge, Tim was instructed to kill his adoptive sister Cassandra Cain, who had been in the Philippines fighting the Shadows. All of this was part of the plan put together by Bruce, Tim, and Barbara. Still, they knew they couldn’t fake that one. Batman took an astronomical gamble by betting--hoping--that David Cain would not let his daughter remain dead. Cass and Tim fought to the death, in a brutal struggle where neither of them held back. Ra’s al Ghul knew that Cass would never take a life after what had happened during her childhood. But Tim proved that he truly had turned against his family, and murdered Cassandra in front of the entire Shadows’ inner circle. Cass was dead for twenty-seven minutes while her body was prepared for the Lazarus Pit, but the gamble paid off and she was resurrected.

Through magic and experimentation, Cassandra Cain regained both life and sanity as a prisoner of the Shadows until the Justice League’s simultaneous raid on the terrorist organization’s bases hit a few months later. She returned home and began to heal. Cass didn’t blame Tim for any of it, and if anything, the two became even closer from the trauma. However, a true dip in the Pit meant months of physical and psychological therapy. Worse, it meant debilitating visions and flashbacks as one reconciled their new life with their old one. David Cain’s sneering form, an embodiment of Cass’ dark childhood, was a simple side effect of the traumatic resurrection.

Other visions had plagued her the past few years, too: Dark blood spilled in the night, a man who didn’t deserve to die and a little girl who shouldn’t have gotten to pass the sentence. The hulking image of Bane as the Venom drug pumped his muscles up to ridiculous proportions, the powerful man readying himself to break the Batman for all of Gotham to see. The hum of Lady Shiva’s sword as she and Cass clashed in the fiery family reunion neither of them had wanted. And of course, the pained face of Tim Drake as Cassandra’s brother, her first friend, choked the life from her.

Sighing, Mockingbird opened her eyes and stared out across the city skyline. Her father was gone. Firing her grapple gun, the hero began a long journey of gliding and swinging across traffic as she headed for Chinatown. As she did so, Mockingbird couldn’t help but reflect on the roles Tim Drake and Stephanie Brown had played in her life. Tim had been the person to give her a life, showing her kindness, friendship, and love as they formed an unlikely alliance during Gotham’s darkest hour. Stephanie had been the one to really show Cassandra what that life meant. Fun and happiness had been absent for so much of Cass’ lifetime, and the pair had made up for lost time. It was hard to imagine a world in which two of the smartest, bravest people she knew would be seriously hurt by a pushover like Cluemaster, but still, Mockingbird worried.

She had to find her friends.

* * *

> **Kane County, NJ  
>  Friday, June 17th, 2022, 15:15 EDT**

The Batmobile crashed through the roaring waterfall and into the secret tunnel that led towards the Batcave. Bats screeched overhead as Mockingbird brought the car to a quick halt in the center of the cave. She and Robin exited swiftly, the Boy Wonder giving an infamous “Tt” as he stripped off his gloves.

“Don’t go far,” said Mockingbird to the young hero. “Bandage yourself up and grab something to eat. We head out in fifteen.”

“Fine,” said Robin, peeling off his domino mask and becoming Damian Wayne again.

Ignoring his attitude, Mockingbird peeled off her own mask, returning to her Cassandra Cain identity once more. Babs and Alfred were waiting for her at the Batcomputer, but she stopped to check her phone first. Harper had been guarding Deathstroke since noon with Renee Montoya, the Question.

_‘How’s the babysitting going?’_ asked Cass as she leaned against the railing.

_‘the baby’s sitting quietly,’_ texted back Harper. _‘any luck finding those missing items?’_

_‘No,’_ replied Cass.

_‘something tells me they’ll turn up tonight. i just hope this fucking baby doesn’t give us any more trouble’_

Cass smiled. _‘Let’s hope so.’_

_‘Oh btw, I found this really cool thing we could do tmrw while i’ve been browsing aimlessly. i’ll tell u all about it when u get here,’_ Harper replied.

_‘Sounds good. Talk soon. Love you.’_

_‘Right back at cha, babe’_

Tucking her phone back into her utility belt, Cass crossed the platform and headed up the stairs to the Batcomputer console, where Babs and Alfred were talking.

“Master Dick found no apparent connection between the Owl Investor’s Club and the fabled Court,” finished Alfred as he scrolled through a list of locations on a second interface.

Barbara caught sight of Cassandra and turned to her former student. “Your leads didn’t pan out either, huh?” Cass shook her head. Babs sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, pushing up her glasses slightly. “Damn it. That’s most of the list taken care of already.”

“Whether this Court of Owls is fable or fact, it seems likely that their operations would be based out of a less obvious front,” said Alfred.

“I fear you might be right,” said Babs, leaning back in her chair. “You’re heading out in a moment, Cass?”

“Yes.”

Babs nodded. “Good, good. Well, I doubt we’ll have any new info by seven, but you’ll certainly be on time for the big show. We’re gonna need all the help we can get. Well, besides the Antichrist, that is.”

The ‘Antichrist’ was what Babs, Tim, Steph, and a few others referred to Damian as.

“What about the bomb?” Cass asked. “Were we able to trace any of the evidence from the Cluemaster base?’

“Sadly, no,” said Babs, shaking her head. “Unless one of these Court of Owls leads turns up something, we’ll be learning out about the bomb’s location through the broadcast tonight. Finding that, as well as our friends, is priority number one.”

Cass certainly agreed with that sentiment.

Alfred checked his watch. “You’ll be wanting to head to the station, Miss Cassandra. I’m sure that our dear friends are eager to get out of there.”

Babs turned her chair back towards the computer. “Once Deathstroke is dealt with, we’ll be able to really focus on finding Tim and Steph, as well as unraveling what Lazarus Pits, nursery rhymes, and the goddamn Cluemaster have to do with this whole mess.”

* * *

Cassandra often marveled at how far she’d come. Eight years living in a world of shadows, tongue held tightly as she silently learned the best ways to kill a man. She was taught to read people, to read their emotions. When she killed her first man and felt death’s call, the read terrified her enough that Cass ran from her father, who also happened to be one of the most dangerous men in the world. Another eight years of running, going from city to city, always peering around corners and checking over her shoulder. She had known no emotion other than fear; a constant drive to stay alive and never encounter death again. That had only changed when she met Tim Drake.

Cass had found herself in Gotham City at what was quite possibly the worst time to be in Gotham City, the Cataclysm. Bane led an army of Shadows to cleanse the city, and Cassandra found herself face to face with the people she’d spent almost a decade running from. Donning a costume to conceal her identity, Cass had darted around the island of Tricorner, where she was cut off from the rest of the city. As weeks turned to months, she knew that she couldn’t keep hidden forever. Luckily, it turned out there was a friend stranded with Cass. Timothy Jackson Drake, otherwise known as Robin, the famed Batman’s sidekick. Together, they’d established contact with allies on the mainland and helped take down Bane, forming a friendship along the way. Cass taught Tim how to fight properly, and he gave her a simple grasp on the English language, something her father had elected to substitute for combat training during her formative years.

By the end, the two of them were able to join forces with a recovered Batman and his allies to stop Bane and end his reign of terror. After hearing how the young girl who hit people more than she spoke coherent sentences had aided his sidekick, the Dark Knight offered Cass a place in his home and a position on his team as the new Batgirl. Bane had killed Tim’s parents in an effort to draw Robin out of hiding, and so both he and Cassandra were adopted by Bruce Wayne at the same time. Amidst training with Batman, Cass had met Tim’s girlfriend and fellow superhero: Steph Brown, aka Spoiler. She’s the one who’d really broadened Cass’ horizons. Steph had shown her how to laugh and have fun. After a lifetime of death and horror, Cass’ two new best friends were the ones to really give her a life worth living. 

Cassandra Cain was thankful for them every day, and she’d be damned if she lost them now.

* * *

**Burnley, Gotham City, NJ  
Friday, June 17th, 2022, 15:57 EDT**

For the second time in less than two days, Mockingbird entered the GCPD lockup wing to assist the police in guarding the captive Deathstroke, this time with Robin at her side. Their shift would last only three hours, till the Arkham transport would arrive to take the deadly mercenary to a specially-reinforced cell. 

“Ah, the cavalry’s arrived,” said Bluebird, smiling as she walked over to greet her girlfriend. “I thought you’d never get here.”

Mockingbird smirked. “We took our time. Backroads, just to be safe.”

“Uh-huh,” replied Bluebird, shaking her head. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. It means I can leave!”

Robin had relieved the Question and taken a seat towards the back of the room, brooding as he watched Deathstroke with an angry expression.

“What was that thing you texted me about?” asked Mockingbird curiously, pulling aside a chair for herself as the police officers chattered around them.

Bluebird smiled. “Well, you know how I’ve been saying it was high time for us to get out of the city more? I found a cool place in New Hampshire we could visit tomorrow.” She pulled up some pictures on her phone. “It’s a nice little town with this nature reserve. Hikes, rock climbing, rafting. There’s ice cream, too.”

“I do love ice cream,” admitted Mockingbird.

Her girlfriend laughed. “Yeah, we all do. So you’re in?”

“I’m in. It’ll be good to get out of here once all this craziness is solved tonight.”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Bluebird. “Well, you and the Antichrist have fun. I’ve seen enough of this room for a while.”

“See you soon,” said Mockingbird, smiling.

If everything went as planned tonight and the Cluemaster was thwarted, it would be great to get out of the city. They’d save Cardinal and Spoiler, stop the bomb, begin to unravel the whole Court of Owls mystery, and get some much-needed vacation time. It had been a busy few days, and Mockingbird just hoped that Gotham had seen all the excitement it could get for one week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cass is an awesome character and it was great to get back to her POV for a bit. Obviously, there’s a whole lot of lore here that’s not from the comics, and that’ll be explored in the coming chapters. Stuff is ramping up, folks, and there’s sure to be a whole lot of climactic excitement soon. Stick around! Next week, we’ll finally be getting into our last POV for this story: Tim Drake. If “Misery” interests you in any way, please leave a comment as it helps to motivate my fragile ego. Catch you next week; same bat time, same bat channel.


	13. Prisoners

> **Arkham Island, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Friday, March 1st, 2019, 1:03 EST**

Tim didn’t have a costume. Steph had been bearing the Robin name for him while he was off with the League of Shadows during the past year, and even so, his old Boy Wonder costume wouldn’t fit him now. Tim had put on twenty pounds of muscle while overseas, operating as the assassin Red X. Besides, the old name didn’t suit him anymore. Cardinal, now that was an idea. It had been Conner’s suggestion, from their last ‘normal’ conversation at the Kent Farm, before the Crisis. So much had happened in the last year… sometimes it was too much for Tim to bear. Regardless, the lack of an official, new heroic identity meant the lack of a costume, and so he had elected to wear a simple leather jacket and a domino mask to visit the most dangerous man alive.

“The Black Wing wasn’t exactly built for visitors,” said Warden Cash as they passed through the fifth and final level of security checks and entered the elevator. Aaron Cash was an Arkham veteran. Twenty years on the job had essentially left him battle-hardened, the perfect candidate to take over the ‘new’ Arkham Asylum. Killer Croc had even bitten off one of the man’s hands. The former security guard had returned the favor by tasing the animal in the throat.

“I don’t plan on staying long,” Tim replied, glancing at the rows of guards, cameras, and guns as they descended into the earth.

Millions of dollars and a whole lot of blood, sweat, and tears had gone into making sure these cells were the most secure on the planet, but it was hard not to be skeptical. They were trying to contain the people you couldn’t contain. Still, Tim had faith. They’d already locked up the Shadows, after all. Impossibility was a concept that every passing day seemed to challenge. When gods could die and men could fly, how could you say that anything was impossible? Impractical, sure, but it was just another problem that needed solving. Years had gone into making sure that Arkham Asylum would be the final resting place for the Demon’s Head.

Tim and Cash stepped out of the elevator doors and into a dimly-lit corridor. There was only one cell at the end of the hall. Different elevator shafts led down to different prisoners. 

“You understand why I can’t let you in?” asked the warden.

“Of course,” replied Tim. He’d barely beaten the inmate in single combat, and the man had defeated Batman countless times.

Aaron Cash gestured to the 26” Pyrex glass that was also used in the Hale telescope. “We removed the blast doors. That’s a two-way mirror. He won’t be able to see you, but we’ll turn the speakers on so he can hear. I’ll hang back by the elevator. When you guys are done chatting, signal me and we’ll head up together.”

“Thank you.”

As the warden left, Tim Drake finally took a good look at the prisoner. The man he’d at last beaten, Ra’s al Ghul. The six-hundred-year-old terrorist leader was meditating, looking more gaunt in his prison orange than he had in his billowing robes. When the speakers came to life, the audio crackled and al Ghul’s emerald eyes flew open. 

The villain smiled as he stared into his own reflection, though Tim could have sworn he saw right through the illusion. “X’ahmar,” said Ra’s. That was Tim’s old codename in Arabic, Red X.

“A hunch? Or can you see through mirrors now?” asked Tim, genuinely curious.

“A suspicion,” replied Ra’s. “I knew you’d come and visit me one last time before this matter was at an end. It’s been a week. I’m guessing my League has been thoroughly eradicated by now?”

Tim smirked in spite of himself. “Thanks to you. I came to say goodbye, seeing as you won’t be getting any more visitors after this.”

“Ah. So you’re the one who gets the final satisfaction of putting me away, hm? I had wondered if the Detective would pay me one last visit, but your presence makes far more sense.”

“You look tired, Ra’s,” remarked Tim as he took in the man’s ragged appearance. “Tell me, how many years was it? Six hundred that you’ve been alive? I learned quite a bit about those Lazarus Pits from you. The more you use ‘em, the more you need ‘em, and yet you destroyed them all when we took you down.” The former Shadow pressed his hands against the glass as he peered through the cell. “You’ll die in this cell, Ra’s, and you don’t have long. A few more years, if you’re lucky. I’m the last voice you’ll ever hear from. After this, it’ll just be you and your mistakes.”

Ra’s eyes met Tim’s through the glass, though how he found his mark was beyond the young hero. “You are so much like him. It fascinated me, you know. Unlike so many of your ilk, no tragedy motivated you to don your cape. The Detective never sought you out,  _ you _ found him. You told me you never wanted it, yet you’ve excelled in this line of work in… what? Seven years? Centuries of careful planning on my end, and you made it all fall apart in a hundredth of that time… because you failed to see the big picture.”

Tim scoffed. “Sorry I never drank the kool-aid, Ra’s. You can tell yourself you were saving the world till your dying day, but I’ve seen the inside of your ranks. The League of Shadows were just another group of killers.”

“The rules you live by limit your understanding of the world. You fight to save humanity -- to save your city -- from criminals as if it is a virus to be thwarted. Humanity is already infected. The only way to save the world from injustice is to excise the cancer by any means necessary. Until you understand that, until Batman understands that, you will fail every time.”

“Goodbye, Ra’s,” said Tim, clenching his fists as he backed away from the glass. 

Shaking his head, the hero began to walk back towards the elevator, where Warden Cash was waiting. He couldn’t let Ra’s get to him. There was always a better way. There had to be.

* * *

> **[Unknown Location]  
>  Friday, June 17th, 2022, 19:40 EDT**

The first thing Tim realized when he woke up was that they’d tied his fingers. The common supervillain might be content with cuffing their prisoner’s hands, but David Cain was far from the common criminal. Fully aware of the training Tim Drake and other students of the Batman underwent, the assassin had taken great care to ensure his captives could not escape easily. David Cain. Shit. For three years, Tim had been tracking him. Now he showed his face as part of a job with Cluemaster? Why?

Tim took a breath as his vision adjusted to the dim surroundings. He was a detective first. Assess and adapt, that’s how this had to go. Not only were his fingers ensnared, but Tim’s entire body had been stripped of its Cardinal armor, leaving him with only the base kevlar layer. His utility belt was gone as well. However, Tim’s domino mask had been left on. The young hero’s body had been strapped to a series of metal rungs set in a concrete wall, further constricting his maneuverability. He could make out some kind of ventilation unit on the back wall. The room Tim was in was dark, the only source of light being the thin slats in the top of a presumable door at the end of the chamber, betraying the darkness.

Taaap. Tap. Tap. Taaap. Taaap.

Taaap. Tap. Tap. Taaap. Taaap.

What in the hell? There were noises coming from the other corner of the room. Tim blinked furiously as his eyes adjusted. If only he’d had his hands free, the veteran superhero could adjust his domino mask’s lenses to night vision. Wait-- was that another person’s silhouette on the opposite wall?

Taaap. Tap. Tap. Taaap. Taaap.

Taaap. Tap. Tap. Taaap. Taaap.

Steph! Tim could now clearly make out his girlfriend, similarly restrained to the opposing wall, as well as her foot tapping out a Morse code message on the hard floor.  _ ‘Tim’ _ . Finding himself with a new burst of energy, the caged Cardinal strained against his bonds, struggling to make any gesture of movement. Settling back down, he responded with his own message.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap… Tap. Tap.

_ ‘Hi.’ _

After a fifteen-minute session of tapping, Steph managed to communicate to Tim what had happened since the belltower… which had apparently been almost a day ago. She’d woken up a few hours ago, and had managed to get a bit of information from her father. Cluemaster was planning some kind of stunt. He’d made some kind of broadcast to the whole city, and apparently, he could have some kind of bomb. A big one. Batman would doubtless be searching for his partners in crime-fighting, and given the sophistication of their restraints, it seemed like Tim and Steph might be shit out of luck till then. But despite all of this, there was one thing that worried Tim even more than being held captive in a basement, Cluemaster having the funds to hire Deathstroke, or the threat of the entire city being destroyed. It was the identity of the man who kidnapped them.

Tim Drake had first learned of David Cain when he’d spent almost a year hiding in Tricorner sewer tunnels with the assassin’s daughter, cut off from the rest of the city during the Cataclysm and surviving off scraps, trying to stay one step ahead of Bane’s men. The early days of Tim’s friendship with Cassandra Cain had been tough, given that she had few words to communicate with. But thanks to dear old Dad, she had plenty of scars. She’d gained almost all of them before the age of eight, since her father had trained her to be the ultimate killer, capable of anticipating attacks and reading emotion. To hear Cass tell it -- or, at the time, more mime it -- she had barely been a daughter to him, just a weapon that he was sharpening for his master: Ra’s al Ghul. Called the ‘Demon’s Head’, Ra’s had been the leader of the world’s largest and most elite terrorist organization, an army of assassins that the man had built over hundreds of years, thanks to the rejuvenating abilities of his Lazarus Pits. Spurned by the Dark Knight’s refusal to become the heir to his empire, Ra’s al Ghul had patiently waited to enact his vengeance upon Batman. Luckily for Cass, she’d escaped her fate and come to Gotham, surviving Bane’s takeover and eventually becoming Batgirl, Tim’s partner when he was Robin. Still, the Cataclysm had only been the largest in a series of attacks on the Dark Knight, his allies, and his home city. Three years of planting seeds overseas and preparing a massive counter-attack amounted to Batman and Oracle staging the ultimate takedown of the League of Shadows, with Tim as their premiere foot soldier. Driven by the pain of losing his best friend during the Crisis of 2018, the former Boy Wonder had quickly entered the inner circle of the Shadows, gaining the trust of Ra’s with wits, some trickery, and a hell of a lot of detective work. An organization like the League of Shadows could never be toppled in one day, but Tim and the Justice League had fatally crippled it, leaving their ally Lady Shiva -- who happened to be Cass’ mother -- to pick up the pieces and weed out the last remnants of injustice. Yet despite all his careful planning, Tim had still let one member of the inner circle slip through his grasp. Of course, that had been David Cain.

Three years of being one of the most wanted men in the world, and yet now Mr. Cain decided to show up in Gotham City, working with -- and all the respect in the world to Stephanie -- one of the shittiest supervillains on the planet. Cluemaster was the fucking cousin of Kite Man, and yet he was the shameful part of the family tree. It didn’t make sense. There had to be a bigger player in all of this. Someone with the resources to get their hands on David Cain and the equally-elusive Deathstroke. Who? Tim’s mind raced with the possibilities. The Light was gone and its members similarly defeated. Could Ra’s be behind this? No. The new Arkham had practically been designed to keep him contained. Then who had the resources to pull this off? Bane? Jesus, could it be Luthor? Or someone new?

Another series of taps from Steph broke Tim’s concentration.  _ ‘What’s on your mind?’  _ she’d asked.

_ ‘Wondering who,’ _ replied Tim, knowing she’d get the rest.  _ ‘There’s something big at work.’ _

_ ‘Whatever it is, it’s happening soon.’ _

Their incessant tapping was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps from outside the cell door. A shadow crossed the thin slats of light, jingling a key into place as the metal door slowly swung open to reveal the man who’d been the subject of so much tap-gossip over the last twenty minutes: David Cain.

“Well, well, well. Of all the reunions I was looking forward to most, I think this one might just be the sweetest.” Cain leaned down as he approached the gagged Tim, gazing into the young man’s mask with a look of unadulterated hate. “How the tables have turned, old friend.”

David Cain kicked Tim swiftly in the ribs. Not hard enough to do any real damage, but enough to satisfy the enemy. Steph strained against her bonds angrily, trying to yell through the gag to no avail.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m just saying hello. It’s been a minute. No harm will come to you two… well, not yet anyway. You’ve got a big show tonight. The whole city will be watching.”

The assassin walked over to the back wall, where he began fiddling with the ventilation unit.

“You know, I expected that Cluemaster’s daughter would show up to bring him in, but I wasn’t sure if you’d be there too, Drake. I’ll admit, I was pleased that you were.” Cain stopped adjusting the unit and turned back to Tim. “I’m sure you have a million questions; you always did. That curiosity always made me suspect you, but you gained the Demon’s trust and doomed us all anyway. Shit, I almost hate you as much as I do Batman. Alas, my revenge will have to wait.”

David Cain slipped on a gas mask and started walking towards the door. 

“I’ve got places to be, and you two will go live in an hour. Tonight is about retribution, my friends.” The villain pressed a button on a remote he was holding, then walked out, swinging the door closed behind him. “This is only the beginning.”

The audible click behind him confirmed Tim’s suspicions that Cain had activated the ventilation unit. One whiff and the hero could tell it was knockout gas. Even knowing it was pointless, Tim struggled against his bonds as the fumes entered his nose. The assassin had been right, the former Boy Wonder did have questions. What was happening at the ‘show’? Did Cluemaster have the bomb? Where was Cain going? Why was Deathstroke a part of this? And most of all, who was in charge? Tim held his breath as he stopped struggling, trying to cling on to consciousness for as long as he could. He looked at Steph and she met his gaze, both of them fighting to stay awake. At that moment, Tim could’ve smiled; he found peace. How many times had they found themselves tied up like this? Hell, everyone in the Batfamily had. It came with the job. But no matter how many villains tried to destroy what Bruce had built or how perilous the odds seemed, the heroes came out ahead. Robin, Red X, Cardinal -- no matter what he called himself, Tim would fight against evil till his last breath. This was the Bats’ city, and no one was going to take it from them, not even David Cain. And Cluemaster? After all the shit he’d been through, Tim wasn’t gonna let that pushover win the day. Despite the winning traits he’d passed on to his badass, genius, sexy daughter, well… Arthur would be smart to run while he still could.

After all, it was almost showtime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! 60,000 words and we’ve finally been introduced to all our POVs. About time, too, because Cluemaster’s show is almost upon us. But first, we’ll have to revisit Selina and see how the past day’s events have been affecting Wayne Manor. If “Misery” has piqued your interest in any way, please stop by the comments section as it helps to motivate my fragile ego. I've had a few great conversations down there so far. Also, I do apologize for these past couple chapters being a little on the shorter side, but that’s because I’m building to some MASSIVE ones as we move into the climax of the story’s first act. Junk is about to get real, so strap in. Read all about it next week; same bat time, same bat channel.


	14. Variables

> **Financial District, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Friday, June 17th, 2022, 20:09 EDT**

Her whole life, Selina had succeeded against all odds because she didn’t have anyone else to worry about. Even her sister or Holly hadn’t usually been involved in Selina’s work. When you had people or other factors to worry about, the job would always go awry. That’s why Selina would always eliminate unnecessary variables when she planned a heist. For twenty years as Catwoman, that mindset had kept her safe. But now that she was out of ‘the life’, there just seemed like there was more to worry about. More variables.

The baby didn’t feel real. Selina wouldn’t be able to feel the quickening for a few weeks, but the little bundle of joy was still growing inside her. Sometimes it was hard not to feel like the thing was weighing her down. Not physically, but emotionally? Sure. Her entire life, Selina had been on the run. Giving chase. Now she’d hung up her suit and traded it in for a marriage she would’ve once scoffed at and a child she hadn’t wanted or expected. She loved Bruce, and she wanted that happily-ever-after with him… but their relationship had always been about the thrill of the chase. Had they worked better when they were forbidden? As the day grew closer, Selina worried she wouldn’t have the strength to stay.

“Se _ lin _ a,” whined Holly, tugging on her as they made their way towards the club. “We’re on a tight schedule, remember? Quit disappearing on me.”

Shrugging Holly off, Selina nodded and set her eyes on the prize: twenty-thousand square feet of steel, glass, and polished marble, topped with an electric blue eyesore of a logo. It was Friday night and the Iceberg Lounge was packed. Rather than waste time in the winding line, Selina and Holly snuck around to a backdoor and entered when a waiter came out for a smoke break. Once inside, they made their way through the kitchens and out into the main lobby. Two floors of chattering patrons surrounded the famed iceberg water feature in the center of the hall. Walking amongst the crooked businessmen and waiters were waves of guards, dressed all in black.

“Security seems pretty tight,” noted Holly, swiping a glass of champagne from a nearby waitress as she eyed Cobblepot’s men. “O, you got the schematics for the server room?”

_ “Yeah, yeah. You’ll have a clear path to the room. Look… I don’t have to remind you what happens if Penguin catches you swiping his data. I’m only helping you two because we’re down to the last hour here-- literally. You know Batman wouldn’t approve of this method.” _

Selina sighed. “Don’t worry, Oracle, the plan will work. And don’t worry about Bat. I can tell him.”

Holly took a swig of her drink and nodded to the other side of the room. “Well, looks like we got ourselves all straightened out just in time. Ogilvy’s made us.”

Ignatius Ogilvy was the Penguin’s right-hand. An English gangster with a taste for brutal violence, Ogilvy was supposedly heading Cobblepot’s black market arms dealings more directly since the latter’s release from Arkham. He was the man who could get them to the real prize.

“Why ‘ello, Ms. Kyle. Ms. Robinson,” greeted the gangster as he reached them, a bodyguard on either side. He was smiling from ear to ear. Oddly enough, the man wore a monocle, just like his boss. Maybe it came as part of the job description. “We weren’t expectin’ you this evening.”

“Primetime at the Iceberg Lounge? I’m sure you get lots of old friends coming out of the woodwork,” proposed Selina, glancing at Ignatius’ men.

Ogilvy wagged his finger. “Ah-ah-ah, you’re not fooling me that easily, Ms. Kyle. If memory serves, you slashed Mr. Cobblepot with your… claws, and threatened to push him out a window the last time you were here.”

“Ogilvy, please, that was a long time ago. We’re all adults here. I just wanna say hi and make up. Besides, I heard something happened to ‘Mr. Cobblepot’ last night that sounds an awful lot like what I threatened to the last time your boss and I had a little chit-chat. Maybe he could use the company.”

The man eyed her quizzically as he chuckled softly to himself. “What about you, Miss?” Ogilvy asked, turning to Holly. “To my knowledge, you and Mr. Cobblepot don’t have much of a pre-existing relationship.” He pointed at Selina. “You can go, but your friend can’t.”

Holly suppressed a laugh as she finished her drink. “Please, I’m just here to have a good time. That’s not a crime, is it?”

“Of course not. I know that Mr. Cobblepot personally appreciates your patronage. If you need anything, Ms. Robinson, don’t hesitate to ask. These blokes are always about,” finished Ogilvy, nodding to the bodyguards.

_ Perfect _ , thought Selina as Ignatius motioned for her to follow, tightly pulling his sinister lips into a not-so-inviting smile. Flanked by a pair of the guards, they weaved their way through the crowds and up a flight of stairs. She was led away from the main club and into a series of backrooms, a journey which culminated in the entrance to the Penguin’s office.

Ogilvy nodded at Cobblepot’s secretary, who was ending a call as they arrived. “Hey, Candice. We’re ‘ere to see the boss.”

“I’ll tell him you’re here,” said the woman, glancing at Selina before disappearing into the next room.

Ignatius turned back to Selina. “Sorry, love, but we’re gonna have to search yah. Can’t take any chances; Mr. Cobblepot has seen enough grief for one twenty-four-hour period.”

The former cat burglar pouted. “Please, Ogilvy, you know me better than that. Trust me, I had my claws clipped long ago.” The two bodyguards took a step closer to her. She held her hands up in the air. “Alright, alright, go ahead.”

Just as the pat-down was finished, Penguin’s secretary emerged from the office. “Ms. Kyle, Mr. Cobblepot will see you now.”

Smiling sweetly, Selina walked over and took the door from her, stepping quietly into the room. Oswald was at his desk, smoking a cigar and sifting through piles of paperwork. The years hadn’t done him any favors. Penguin was completely bald now, which only served to accentuate the man’s splotchy skin, rolls of fat, and generally greasy appearance.

“Hey, Ozzie,” said Selina, eyeing the casts the criminal’s legs were in. Bruce had sure done a number on him. “Long time no see.”

Cobblepot looked up from his work and flashed one of his disgusting little smiles. “Ms. Kyle, always a pleasure.”

Selina took a seat across from him. “I must admit, I wasn’t sure you’d be back at it so soon. I heard you had a terrible accident yesterday.” 

She nodded to the broken window, which was covered in caution tape and a plastic sheet.

Oswald chuckled. “A simple misunderstanding between two old friends. We’ve had a few of those in the past, ‘aven’t we?”

“Too many.”

Selina felt her earpiece buzz.  _ “I lost my tail. Oracle, I’m in Stairwell 2B. That gonna get me to where I need to go?” _

_ “Just about. Once you’re down there, follow the hall to the end, then take a right. It’ll be the first door on the left,” _ replied Barbara.  _ “Penguin doesn’t keep everything here, but the place is his fortress. Getting access to those servers will give us any answers Cobblepot may have to our Cluemaster problem.” _

_ “And give us enough evidence to get the ball rolling on making Penguin a jailbird again,”  _ added Holly.

_ “Bingo.” _

Selina kept one ear trained to her partners’ conversation as Oswald reached for a bottle of Scotch with his stubby fingers. Thankfully, her hair kept the comm hidden from view.

“I suppose we ought to drink to our mutual success,” said the Penguin as he poured them both glasses, struggling to sit up properly with his immobile legs. “Both out of prison and onto living happier lives. I ‘ear you’ve found yourself a rich sod to keep you nice and cozy for the rest of your days. Course you had to pick that fucking bastard Wayne.”

“I know you two have your history,” said Selina, grabbing her drink.

“My grandfather was the mayor of this city. By the time I came around, Wayne’s family had torn our business to shreds. I grew up on the streets of London, fighting for survival while that playboy lived happily off his parents’ fortune. I ‘ad to build myself up after that. Look at me now.”

Selina frowned. “I don’t think his childhood was all puppies and rainbows either.”

Cobblepot waved his hand. “Course not, course not. But the man knows nothing of sacrifice, y’see? Won’t even associate with me cause I’m some criminal scum to him. As if the Wayne family didn’t build their empire off the backs of Gotham’s poorest citizens.” Oswald put down his cigar and grabbed his own drink. “Heh, seems he dropped the no-tolerance policy for criminals once he met you-- and I say that with all due respect, of course.”

“Of course,” replied Selina, smiling thinly.

_ “Alright,”  _ came Holly’s voice over the comm,  _ “I got the door open.” _

_ “Great. I need you to find the server labeled Cs30,”  _ replied Oracle.  _ “From what we know about Penguin’s operations, that should be the best way to invade his network. And Catwoman, the process should take a few minutes to get up and running, but you don’t wanna hang around there forever.” _

“Well, in any case, it seems we’ve both found ourselves on the right side of fortune,” said Cobblepot, raising his glass.

Selina clinked her own beverage against his. “I’ll drink to that.”

After a strangled gulp, Oswald set the glass down and licked his pouty lips. “This unexpected company was a nice surprise, especially after the rough night I had. However, I must ask what you are really doing here, my dear.”

“Would you believe I’m just here to say hi to an old friend?” asked Selina. She nodded to the man’s legs. “I’ve been doing some reconnecting these past few weeks. Heard about your accident and wanted to check in.”

Penguin laughed as he picked up his cigar once more. “You’ll have to forgive my skepticism, Ms. Kyle. As I’m sure you’ve ascertained, our mutual acquaintance, Batman, was the one to put me out that window there. You could say I’m on edge.”

_ “I found the server.” _

_ “Good,”  _ replied Oracle.  _ “Just plug it in and I’ll gain remote access. Give me ninety seconds to upload my malware and rip what I can, and we’ll be in business.” _

“How did the ‘ol Bat take it when he found out his favorite feline fatale was off the market?” asked Cobblepot, chuckling.

Selina shrugged. “Never asked. The extent of our relationship never quite lived up to the tabloids, I think.” She eyed the man’s casts again. “So that’s what all the security is for? Paranoia getting to you?”

Penguin stopped laughing and eyed her quizzically through his ‘monocle’. “You remember the story of ‘ow I got this?” he asked, tapping the glass. “Some twenty years ago: I’ve climbed my way up the scumbag ladder in the wake of old man Falcone’s death. I’m quickly becoming one of Gotham’s largest arms dealers. Business is booming and my offshore bank accounts are growing. But there’s one thing I don’t ‘ave: respect. A man comes to  _ my _ table at one of  _ my  _ casinos and he lies to my face. When I call ‘im a liar, the piece of shit stabs me in the face with a smashed bottle. I’m in surgery for ten hours, blind in my left eye. The doctors tell me they can’t remove the bloody glass-bottom without potentially killing me. So what do I do? I keep it; own it. And you know what happened to that fucking bloke who crossed me?”

Selina had heard this story before. “You fed him to your shark?”

“I cut off his hands and drowned ‘im in front of a crowd.  _ Then _ I fed his lifeless corpse to my shark.” Oswald sipped at his Scotch. “I do miss my Tiny. Poor bastard died of cancer, if you can believe it. Tumor in the jaw.” The man almost looked sad.

“So that’s what you’re afraid of?” she asked. “That I’ve come here to finish you off with this bottle of McCallan?”

Cobblepot scoffed. “I hope not. That’s a $40,000 drink you’re holding. Brewed in 1966 and bottled in ‘97.” He finished his whiskey and set it down. “The point I’m circling in on, Ms. Kyle, is that I became the largest arms dealer in the state not by fighting what I wasn’t but by embracing what I was. A grotesque man with a silly waddle that frightened people more than he charmed them. They called me the Penguin behind my back, so I embraced it. Let any bastard dumb enough to cross me fear the wrath of the Penguin.” He grabbed the desk with his stubby hand and pulled himself up as far as he could move in his bandages. The cigar stench filled Selina’s nose. “So when a master thief waltzes in here looking to ‘catch up’ after years of fucking me over, what am I to think? We are who we are, Catwoman, and like me, you’ll never change.” Oswald smacked the glass out of her hand, and the $40,000 Scotch went splashing across the rug. “Carmichael. Turk. Escort Ms. Kyle off the premises. She is hereby banned from the Iceberg Lounge. Call it Wayne family policy.”

_ “I’m good. Rip the drive,”  _ said Oracle.

_ “Done,”  _ replied Holly, sounding relieved at a successful job.

_ “Now you two just have to get out of there without dying horribly. Selina, this would be your cue to leave.” _

_ That’s the plan, _ thought Selina as Penguin’s men grabbed her by each arm and half-walked, half-dragged her out of the office, robbing her of even a final retort. She was led down the hall and into a stairwell. When they reached the bottom, one of the guards stopped short, fiddling with his earpiece.

“Shit. Someone pulled a gun on the top floor. You got her handled?”

The other man--Carmichael, was it?--nodded. Once the first guard left, Selina and her escort finished walking down the backdoor passage and finally arrived at the exit. She was shoved out the door in a not-so-polite fashion. But before Selina could collect herself, she heard Carmichael grab the door and turn back to her.

“Are you-- are you wearing a fucking wire?”

The guard took one look at her comm and instantly pulled his gun on her. Selina slowly raised her hands as the weapon was pointed point-blank in her face.

Carmichael grabbed at his earpiece, presumably to call his boss. “Fucking bitch. You recorded everything, didn’t you?”

_ Goddamn variables, _ thought Selina. She was fighting for two now. After a moment of contemplating just how much could go wrong here, instinct took over. Selina grabbed the barrel of the gun, jerking the man’s arm to the right as she violently kicked him in the kneecap, throwing Carmichael off his balance. The gun went off next to her, absolutely fucking the hearing in her left ear but granting her the opportunity to twist the weapon out of the man’s hands. As he went down next to her, Selina brought the gun’s handle down on his neck with a crack. Panting, she dropped the weapon and took a step backward, surveying the unconscious guard.

“Selina?”

At the sound of her name, she turned to find Holly staring right at her.  _ Fuck _ . That was the last person Selina had wanted to see this.

“Well, well, well. Gettin’ into some excitement, are we?” came a voice from further down the alley.

Okay, maybe he was worse.

Ignatius Ogilvy whistled at the scene in front of him, first at the man on the ground and then… right at Holly. “After dropping off Miss Kyle, I decided to check in on how you were doing, Miss Robinson. Imagine my surprise to discover that you had wandered off to our off-limits server room.” The gangster held something up-- a tape. “You wiped the security footage, but you didn’t locate our backup tapes.”

Oracle cursed.  _ “This is bad. That footage has your face on it, Holly.” _

Ogilvy smirked at the panic on Selina and Holly’s faces, then proceeded to rip the tape out of the VHS container, crumpling it in his hand. 

The man laughed. “You light a fire under Penguin’s arse and he’ll slip up. With any luck, you two can land him back in Arkham.”

“Why?” asked Selina, already guessing the answer.

“Cobblepot’s set in his ways. Business was better when he was gone. It’d be better for all parties if I took charge again.” Ogilvy chuckled and nodded to the unconscious man on the ground. “I’ll take care of ‘im, you two best be runnin’ off.”

Holly shook her head. “Aren’t you two like… best buds?”

“Well, it’s like how you Americans say it: That’s life in the NFL, love.”

With that, Ogilvy went back inside the Iceberg Lounge, humming a tune to himself as Selina and Holly vanished onto the busy city streets.

Given the high stakes situation, Selina had taken the liberty of borrowing one of Bruce’s old Batmobiles. Stashed away under an overpass, the car still sat undisturbed under its tarp when the two heisters returned from the club. Selina slid into the driver’s seat after making sure no one was watching, Holly clambering in next to her. Turning on the Batmobile’s powerful engine, they pulled away and started heading towards the Clocktower.

“Se lin a. Something’s not right about what just happened.”

“I know. I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone use ‘That’s life in the NFL’ outside of  _ The Social Network _ .”

Holly rolled her eyes. “Damn it, Selina. Now is not the time to go around roughing up people. You’ve got a kid in there you don’t wanna mess up.”

“I know, Holls,” replied Selina, sighing. “It was kind of a life-or-death, fight-or-flight situation.”

“Well, those are kind of the situations you should be avoiding right now,” countered Holly.

“Holls--”

“We could’ve gotten in another way, you didn’t need to distract Cobblepot. You just shouldn’t be out in the field right now.”

“Holly!” said Selina, cutting her friend off. “I know it’s not ideal, but this was a last-minute plan. You needed me and I needed you. The job didn’t go smoothly, but we got what we came for.”

“Alright, alright,” said Holly, looking up at the skyline as they raced through Old Gotham backroads. “I just want you to be careful. You know I love you. Plus, I’m gonna be an  _ amazing _ godmother.”

Selina smiled. “Thanks, Holls. You’ve always looked out for me.”

“Yeah, well, you were there for me quite a bit in our younger years, weren’t you?”

“We were there for each other.”

Holly nodded. “Yeah. I just worry about you, is all. You look tired.”

Selina was tired. She yawned. “Morning sickness. Plus, the whole kidnapping thing.”

“Yeah. I didn’t see that till this morning,” confessed Holly. “Still didn’t do much sleeping though.”

They pulled off the road and down an alleyway, sliding into the secret tunnel that would take them to the Clocktower, away from prying eyes. 

“That so?” asked Selina, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ll never guess who it was.”

“It was someone I know?”

Holly leaned in, annunciating her words for effect. “Jason. Todd.”

“Get out of here,” said Selina, slightly awed as they pulled into the Clocktower’s sub-basement.

Once the Batmobile was parked, the two got out and strolled over to the private elevator that would take them to Barbara Gordon’s apartment, located behind the clock face of the tower. It also operated as the headquarters of the Birds of Prey and an occasional base of operations for the Batfamily.

“So,” began Selina as the elevator doors closed. “You and my new son, huh?”

Holly winced slightly. “Let’s not think about it in that context.”

Selina nodded. “I mean, I guess it makes sense. Two wayward orphans with dark pasts, finding solace in each other’s arms.”

“Yeah, I don’t know if I’d go as far as to describe it that way,” said Holly, rolling her eyes.

“No, no, that’s good. That… fits.” Selina smiled at her best friend. “I’m happy for you. We thinkin’ it’s a one-night thing or a few-nights thing?”

Holly shrugged. “The day kind of got away from us, but… I guess we’ll see.”

Selina glanced down at her watch. In ten minutes, Cluemaster would go live. The elevator chimed and the doors swung open to reveal the frantic chaos within. Barbara was at her terminal, going back and forth between two monitors as she talked in a hurried voice with whoever was on the other end of the line. Alfred was at her side, also communicating with someone on the comms. Bruce was all geared up, instructing Duke on something as they moved Babs’ television to the center of the room.

“Bruce! Just got word from Dinah. Deathstroke is on the move to his cozy cell in Arkham,” yelled Barbara across the room. She then muted her headset and turned to Selina and Holly. “Hey. You guys did good. The evidence on here is definitely gonna screw with Penguin’s new ‘honest businessman’ image. Bad news is that this data isn’t gonna tell us who bankrolled Deathstroke and Cluemaster.”

“Fuck,” muttered Holly, slumping against the wall. “Guess that fat bastard really was telling the truth.”

“However,” said Babs, raising a finger as she pulled up files on her computer. “There is evidence that Cobblepot dealt with the Court of Owls before.”

Selina’s eyes widened. “I knew it.”

“Your hunch was right. There isn’t  _ a ton _ of evidence and it doesn’t seem like Penguin’s a member, but--”

“It’s something,” said Holly triumphantly.

“Hell yeah it is,” confirmed Barbara. “We’ll have to do more research later seeing as Cluemaster’s show is starting in five minutes, but you two did good.” She turned to Selina. “And as your reward, you get to tell Bruce about it.”

Sighing, Selina threw her coat over the nearby couch and went to talk to her fiancée, who was currently hassling poor Duke.

“The team is all spaced around the city. Once we get the location, we’re heading straight there, even if it’s on the other side of town. No matter what, you have to keep up. Speed--”

“Time is the most important factor here,” said Duke, nodding. “I got it.”

“Bat,” called Selina.

Bruce turned. “Cat.”

Sensing he was no longer needed, Duke nodded curtly and walked over to talk with Barbara.

“Oracle told me you and Holly were following up on a lead, but she wouldn’t tell me what it was.”

Selina took a step closer to him. “Penguin’s an old acquaintance. Figured I could keep him talking while Holly swiped his servers, see if there was anything there.”

Bruce looked at her with his stern, blue eyes. “I thought we were in agreement that field missions would be off the table during the course of the pregnancy.”

“We were, and we are. But you were short-staffed and Holly and I thought we had something. Turns out we did. Mission went as planned and we found out Cobblepot had ties with the Court of Owls in the past. Barbara is gonna follow up on them tomorrow once the rescue is all sorted out.”

He was silent for a moment, glancing away in reflection before looking back at her. “Selina, I-- we talked about this.”

“I know.”

Bruce seemed to center himself. “You did good work today. You, Barbara, and Holly. But you can’t go out in the field like this again.”

“I know.” Selina paused. “Thank you, Bruce. Things have been crazy these past couple days. I wanted to help.”

“Thank you. Just… next time, let’s talk first.”

Selina nodded. “It’s… it’s hard, isn’t? I feel like we get less and less time to ourselves the closer we get to the… to the big day.”

“The city that never sleeps,” said Bruce, almost wistfully.

“You think it’ll always be this way?”

“It  _ has _ always been this way.” Bruce took her hand. “But we’ve been together in this for a long time. That isn’t going to change either.”

Selina smiled, glancing over at the television that would soon display Cluemaster’s broadcast. “I’d come with you.”

“I know--”

Before Bruce could reiterate why she couldn’t go, he dropped her hand and closed his eyes as if in pain.

“You okay?” she asked, concerned. Bruce’s eyes opened, but they weren’t focused on her anymore; he was staring at something behind Selina. She turned, but didn’t spot anything of note. “Something I’m not seeing?”

He shook his head slowly. “Something  _ I’m _ not seeing.”

Selina was confused. “What--”

“It appears we have a guest, Barbara,” said Alfred loudly, pointing at the concealed door in the ceiling.

Selina had used the passage before. The vent in the ceiling allowed access straight through the roof of the Clocktower, allowing certain vigilantes to come and go as they pleased. A red light on Alfred’s monitor indicated someone was ‘at the door’.

“Who the hell is trying to change locations now?” asked Babs angrily. “This thing is starting in one minute.”

She opened the vent, allowing the figure who’d been crouched on the roof to drop down into the apartment. It was Jason, dressed in his full Red Hood costume.

Removing his helmet, the former Robin glanced briefly at Holly before turning to Bruce. “I know what you’re gonna say--”

“No.”

“Leslie gave me a clean bill of health,” claimed Jason.

“And yet your hand is still bandaged,” countered Bruce. 

Selina recalled how the young man’s hand had been broken in the fight with ‘Owlman’.

He looked slightly angry now. “There’s no way I’m sitting this one out, old man.”

“Jason--” Bruce growled, but he was cut off.

“I can play the background, but I’m following you guys whether you like it or not.”

Before Bruce could respond, Barbara looked up from her monitor and shouted to the room. “Guys! Stream is coming online. Nightwing and Batwoman are at Gotham Radio Towers, ready to intercept the signal.”

“Put it on!” commanded Bruce, glaring at Jason before turning to the screen.

“Trace is running!” yelled Babs as the heroes gathered in front of the monitor, where they were greeted with the logos of Cluemaster’s show.

_ “Welcome to  _ Think, Thank, Thunk! _ ”  _ came an announcer’s voice over the intercom. 

The titles vanished and Selina found herself faced with the slightly off-putting visage of Cluemaster.  _ “Good evening, Gotham, and welcome back to the show.” _

“Nightwing’s rerouting the signal,” yelled Oracle. “Thirty seconds and we’ll have it!”

_ “Tonight’s special episode will include several guest appearances from some of our resident vigilantes, all competing for some very exciting prizes,”  _ continued Cluemaster.

“Oracle, let’s confirm everyone’s status,” said Bruce, pulling out his grapple gun as he prepared to exit through the ceiling vent.

Barbara’s fingers raced across her keyboard as she multitasked vigorously. “Alright, gang, we’re closing in on the signal. Call out when you have a read.”

Cluemaster was still going.  _ “Our guests have already discovered the clue, and are on their way now. Will they discover what’s behind our three special doors?”  _ He motioned to three colorful, numbered prize doors behind him. _ “Will they take home the grand prize or send Gotham sky high?” _

One by one, the various members of the Batfamily radioed in as they locked on to Cluemaster’s signal.

_ “Nightwing.” _

_ “Mockingbird.” _

“Red Hood.”

_ “Bluebird.” _

“Signal.”

_ “Batwoman.” _

_ “Flamebird.” _

_ “Batgirl.” _

_ “Azrael.” _

_ “Question.” _

_ “Batwing.” _

“Batman.”

Selina closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. As a master thief, you learned that you needed to eliminate excess variables for a job to run smoothly. There were too many factors tonight; there was too much that could go wrong. For her and Bruce, the next week was supposed to bring the happiest day of their lives. She just hoped that Tim, Stephanie, and the city would be there.

Cluemaster laughed.  _ “Stay tuned, viewers. You’re in for one hell of a show.” _

“Coordinates locked,” shouted Barbara. “Water treatment facility in Burnley!”

“Go!” yelled Batman.

Sounds of heavy footsteps and the firing of grapple lines filled the room. Putting on a brave face, Selina quickly turned to see her future husband off. But like so many times before, the Dark Knight had already vanished into the night sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘One hell of a show’ is right, readers! The next couple chapters will be… explosive. Thanks for sticking with me thus far as we’ve set the scene and met all the caped Gothamites we’ll be following throughout the course of this story. I promise the wait was worth it! You’re in for an action-packed ride as we near the end of Act 1. If “Misery” has captured your interest in any way whatsoever, please do leave a comment as it helps to motivate my fragile ego. I’ll see you next week as we return to the perspective of Batman (and the Joker); same bat time, same bat channel.


	15. Countdown

> **Little Italy, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Friday, June 17th, 2022, 21:12 EDT**

In twelve minutes, Batman had almost crossed three miles. It would take another 1.8 to reach the water treatment facility in Burnley, where Cluemaster held Cardinal and Spoiler hostage, as well as a deadly bomb capable of leveling the district. Red Hood and Signal were a hundred yards back, struggling to follow as they swung over busy streets, filled with onlookers watching the sadistic spectacle on television screens, seemingly immune to the fact that thousands might soon die. Arthur Brown had not been the first of the Dark Knight’s foes, nor the most memorable, and certainly not the most deadly; none of that changed the fact that he was dangerous. To make matters worse, he was very aware of the Batman’s secret identity, something the villain could potentially exploit on live television.

_“You worried, Bats? Saving the kidnapped Robin is usually the part you screw the pooch on.”_

There he was. The sickening voice that had haunted the Dark Knight for months since the real Joker had died. The clown was ever-present in the backseat of the hero’s mind, quipping and jeering at the world around him with his twisted, eerie laughter. Batman did not have time for ghosts now. He had to save his son.

* * *

_“The rules are simple,”_ said Cluemaster over the broadcast, Batman listening in as he raced along. The villain had been rambling for over fifteen minutes and was finally getting around to what mattered.

“That’s it!” shouted Nightwing as he and Batwoman landed atop the Burnley Water Treatment facility, only a few seconds ahead of Batman.

 _“The Dark Knight will have ten minutes to answer a series of thirty clues. With every ten solved, he wins a prize. If he guesses enough of them correctly within the time limit, he wins all the prizes,”_ continued Cluemaster.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, Batman kept on moving, scanning the area for any obvious traps with the lenses of his cowl and glancing around for signs of foul play.

 _“We won’t be able to shut down the broadcast until you guys get inside,”_ said Oracle over the comms. _“The device I gave Nightwing, coupled with the hardware we installed at GRT, should allow us to completely hijack the network once you’re inside. Unfortunately, he’ll be broadcasting for a good ten minutes while my software takes him over.”_

“If we have to play his game to save Cardinal and Spoiler, then so be it,” said Batman grimly.

Cluemaster was still talking. _“If the hero cannot answer all my questions in time, well… he loses.”_

Mockingbird appeared suddenly next to Batman. There were very few people who could sneak up on the Dark Knight. That was usually his job.

“The perimeter’s clear,” she said. 

Red Hood had been scouting the west side of the facility. He dropped down as Mockingbird relayed the news to Batman, nodding his confirmation.

Batman looked around at the team. Nightwing, Red Hood, Mockingbird, Batwoman, Bluebird, Batwing, and Signal were all here. Question, Azrael, Flamebird, and Batgirl had been on the far side of the city and were still on their way to the rendezvous.

“Oracle, tell the others to guard the perimeter when they arrive,” asked Batman. “The rest of us are going in.”

The compound was massive, filled with different buildings and faculties to accommodate the large water supply of Gotham. Batman knew that the facility’s workers would likely be found tied up somewhere on the premises come morning, as Cluemaster and whoever he was working with had seemingly seized the entire thing for themselves. The Dark Knight didn’t have to doubt that they had found the right location. Once they stepped inside, the heroes were greeted with a large sign that read ‘WELCOME, BATMAN AND FRIENDS’. The flamboyant Cluemaster was anything but subtle. Bright orange arrows had been hurriedly painted on the floor, mockingly directing the heroes through the facility and towards the villain’s stage.

As always, Joker walked alongside them too, the dead man’s skin stretching every time he smiled. _“So many questions! Think you’ll be able to weasel all the answers out of Riddler #2? They do call you the World’s Greatest Detective, after all.”_

Pushing past his ghost, Batman led his allies through halls crowded with machines, shelves, and dials. The sounds of the still-active water treatment facility echoed through the walls as the heroes made their way along the winding, highlighted path towards the villain’s stage. Cluemaster continued to monologue through the heroes’ earpieces as they set out.

After a few minutes of the orange trail, and no sign of their allies or any major disturbances, the heroes’ path opened up into what was seemingly the main sedimentation chamber. A few rows of chairs had been erected around the main platform: the stage. Cluemaster stood atop it, surrounded by a poorly-made game show set that still succeeded in masking his location. It was how he’d eluded Batman and the GCPD for the better part of twenty-four hours. Both a camera crew and camera equipment circled the platform. In addition to his filmmakers, Cluemaster had gunmen standing around the perimeter of the chamber, all of whom had aimed their guns towards the Batfamily as they entered. 

“--And here come our guests of honor!” proclaimed the villain, clapping as his camera crew swung the cameras around to identify the heroes. “Batman and his trustee allies!”

The vigilantes glanced around at the gunmen as the Dark Knight fixed his eyes on Cluemaster. “What happens now?”

The villain smiled. “Now is the time to put those detective skills to work. Step right on up to the player’s podium and prepare for the show of a lifetime! There _are_ plenty of lives riding on this, after all… including those of your young partners.”

Batman fixed Cluemaster with a steely gaze. “If you hurt them, Brown, or any of the people your bomb jeopardizes, I’ll ensure that you never form a coherent sentence again, much less one of your clues.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Dark Knight. You should try it sometime,” offered Cluemaster as he beckoned the vigilante forward. When Nightwing and Red Hood tried to follow behind, the villain held up a hand. “Ah ah ah, no phoning friends in this game, boys. You can take a seat in the audience there.” Cluemaster looked back at Batman. “Now you remember that. I know you’ve got little helpers whispering in your ear. It’d be in your best interest to avoid utilizing them. If I think you’re cheating, I’ll have to disqualify you, and that means you’ll never get to learn what’s behind these lovely three prize doors.”

Batman didn’t have to imagine what was behind those doors, seeing as he’d only come here for three things. The hero frowned as he stepped up to the plate. The city was watching. Countless lives were on the line. The stakes were high.

“Let’s play,” growled Batman, his words icy.

Cluemaster pointed at the countdown timer on the wall, currently frozen at ten minutes. “Audience, count us off!”

The other vigilantes in the audience blinked in confusion as they glanced around at each other. Slowly, they mustered up a countdown. “Th-- three, two, o-- one.”

“And we’re off!” shouted Cluemaster gleefully as the timer began to count down and he turned to Batman. “For my first question: What’s the one action you can never do first?”

 _“Don’t worry, Bats,”_ whispered Joker. _“I can help. Don’t think Riddler #2 can see me.”_

The Dark Knight didn’t need help. Arthur Brown’s show hadn’t been pulled during its first season because the host was known for his clever brain teasers. Quite the opposite.

“Return,” said Batman, sighing. It was going to be a long ten minutes.

Oracle was typing away in his ear. _“The device is running. I should be able to cut the feed before that timer runs out. Get the prizes before that happens and we’ll be in business.”_

Cluemaster made sure to peer into the camera every time he read out a clue. “When you die, what’s the one part of yourself you leave behind?”

Batman frowned. Some of these were up for interpretation. “Your legacy.”

“What does every person have that can’t be outright stolen?”

“...Their love.”

The Dark Knight spent the next minute stoically answering more of Cluemaster’s questions, always keeping his eye on the clock. Oracle continued to chime in as he did so.

_“Nightwing’s device is working at Cluemaster’s feed. Give me a few minutes and we can finally shut him down and end this for good.”_

“Dogs say ‘bark’, cats say ‘meow’, yet only one animal asks a question. What is it?”

“An owl,” said Batman slowly. Of all the brain teasers Cluemaster was throwing at him, that one was certainly telling.

“How the hell aren’t these riddles?” muttered Nightwing from the audience chairs. “Is he just stealing rejects from the Riddler?”

Frowning, Cluemaster pointed at one of his nearby henchmen. “Hey! You! Guy!”

The man blinked in confusion and pointed at himself. “Me?”

“Yeah. Next time the peanut gallery speaks when they haven’t been spoken to, shoot one of them at random.” Cluemaster turned back to Batman and regained his composure. “What comes down, but never breaks, Dark Knight?”

“Nightfall,” said Batman gruffly. It was supposed to be ‘what falls down,’ though the necessity for cleverness in his clues was clearly lost on Cluemaster.

Upon hearing Batman’s answer, the villain pressed a button on his tablet and a bell effect sounded. “Ah-ha! That’s ten riddles answered correctly in three minutes! Record time! Keep that up, and you may just win all the prizes.” Cluemaster looked directly into the camera, fixing his thinning hair absently. “Now, dear viewers, Batman has obtained enough right answers to unlock his first reward. Shall we take a gander behind ‘Door Number 1’? What do you think, audience?”

The Dark Knight’s comrades glanced at each other, clearly not expecting to be drawn into the show. 

“Fuck yeah,” called out Red Hood mockingly.

Cluemaster’s expression suddenly turned furious. “Jim, bleep that!” he commanded at a nearby worker before turning back to Red Hood. “Children are watching this, you moron. You’re lucky we have a six-second delay.” Gathering himself, the villain stepped out from behind his podium and walked over to the first prize door. “Let’s see what’s behind ‘Door Number 1’!”

With a press of his tablet, Cluemaster activated the door, which swung open to reveal Cardinal, who was tightly-bound with rope but still struggling to escape. Batman’s nostrils flared at the sight of his captured son, and he took a step out from his podium.

“Ah ah ah,” said the villain, holding his hand out to stop the Dark Knight as two of his henchmen immediately aimed their weapons at Cardinal’s head. “Prizes may be redeemed _after_ the show has run its course.”

Fists clenched tightly, Batman returned to his place and glanced at the timer. Almost six minutes left. “Next question.”

It went on like that for another few minutes, Cluemaster spewing his babble as Batman raced to answer and the other vigilantes shifted restlessly in their seats, sizing up the gunmen. Oracle chimed in with her progress on shutting down the stream every minute or so, typing furiously over the comms as she raced against time. Batman knew she was thinking about what had happened to Jason, just like they all were, and how she’d failed to save him in time. Tonight, none of them would fail. Of course, Joker chimed in every so often, as well, taunting Batman with how close history was to repeating itself. Eventually, the Dark Knight reached twenty questions and uncovered the prize behind ‘Door Number 2’, Spoiler, bound similarly to Cardinal. There was only one door left, and it didn't take a World's Greatest Detective to figure out that it held the villain’s deadly bomb.

“Until I am measured, I am not known, yet how you miss me when I have flown. What am I?” read out Cluemaster, obviously glancing at his tablet. He’d seemingly failed to memorize his own questions.

Curiously, no matter how many questions the vigilante answered correctly, Cluemaster didn’t appear at all angered or deterred. “Time,” said Batman, sighing.

That was something they were running out of. There was less than a minute left on the clock, and Cluemaster still had two final questions left in this twisted game. 

“Come on! Get on with it,” growled the Dark Knight.

Cluemaster laughed. “Someone’s eager to get on with the show. What say you, audience?”

Shouts of ‘yeah’ and ‘come on’ echoed up from Batman’s faithful allies.

“You give me away by taking me. What am I?” asked Cluemaster simply.

At least he was saving the remotely clever ones for last. “Revenge,” answered Batman. He’d dealt with the Riddler for long enough to handle anything Brown threw at him.

Cluemaster clapped gleefully and the ‘audience’ shallowly did the same. “Well done, Dark Knight! Impressed, viewers? Our skilled contestant has bested all my challenges so far, but can he take home the gold?”

 _“I’m re-routing everything through the Gotham Radio Towers,”_ said Oracle at a rapid pace. _“Twenty seconds and I’ll own his broadcast. That should be enough of a distraction to take him down without losing our people.”_

“Ready yourselves, Gotham, for the climactic conclusion to our broadcast is upon us!” yelled Cluemaster, shouting now. “One final clue!”

 _“Come on, Brucie. Put that thinking bat-cap on and stop that bomb!”_ said the Joker, cheering Batman on. _“Or don’t, doesn’t matter much to me. I’m dead!”_

 _“Ten seconds!”_ yelled Oracle. _“We’re almost through.”_

“Ladies and gentlemen! My final clue; the grand finale!” Cluemaster hurriedly pressed a button on his tablet, setting off a drum roll as he gave the last question. “To judge me is to oversee me. I am a balance carefully provided. Revenge, I am nearly, but never as one-sided. What am I?”

Right at that moment, Oracle stopped typing. _“Stream’s down! Go!”_

The cameras cut out and the film crew blinked at them in confusion, looks of panic on their faces. The henchmen barely had time to register what was happening before the vigilantes burst into action. There were eight heroes and sixteen gunmen. If Cluemaster had thrice that number, maybe it would’ve been a fair fight. As guns fired into the air aimlessly and the members of the Batfamily took down the guards, Batman launched himself across the podium and at Cluemaster, knocking the villain to the ground.

“Justice,” replied the Dark Knight, answering the final ‘clue’.

Batman looked behind him to discover that his teammates had already dispatched Cluemaster’s men. Mockingbird and Bluebird raced over to free Cardinal and Spoiler. 

“Well, this has been rather anticlimactic,” said Batwoman, stretching after knocking out two men.

Satisfied, the Dark Knight kicked Cluemaster again and left him groaning on the ground as he walked over to ‘Door Number 3’. The villain had used his tablet to open the doors, but Batman didn’t need it. The door wasn’t even locked. Batman swung the hurriedly-crafted door open, only to discover that--

“There’s no bomb,” said Red Hood grimly, looking over his mentor’s shoulder. He glanced back at Batwoman. “You just had to say something, didn’t you?”

Behind ‘Door Number 3’ there was simply an empty wooden chamber, devoid of any kind of prize.

“Batman!” yelled Cardinal. The Dark Knight turned to his third son. The boy was struggling to stand after being bound for so long but waved Bluebird away. “Cluemaster had help.”

Batman frowned. “His silent partner.”

“It was David Cain who grabbed us. Drugged us and held us here in preparation for the show,” revealed Cardinal, glancing at Mockingbird.

 _“What a twist!”_ exclaimed the Joker, laughing as he heard the news. The Dark Knight wasn’t smiling.

“Cain?” asked Batman, confused. Had he organized this? Why had he and Deathstroke chosen now to finally come back to Gotham? What was the Court of Owls connection? Batman marched over to the stage, where he grabbed the villain and dragged him over to the closest wall, slamming him against it. “Where is the bomb?” questioned Batman, forcing Cluemaster against the wall again. “Who gave it to you? Was it David Cain?”

“Are we sure there even _was_ a bomb?” asked Batwing, glancing around the chamber.

“We found traces of it at his base,” confirmed Nightwing.

Cluemaster was bleeding, yet he smiled. Batman grabbed him by the collar and broke his nose with a single punch. “Where’s the bomb?!”

He was still grinning. Batman punched him again. And again, and again. He pummeled Brown for answers, each blow landing harder.

 _“He knows,”_ cackled the Joker. 

“Batman!” came a shout from behind.

The grin only seemed wider now, a twisted smirk on a chalk-white face. The Dark Knight would wipe that smug expression away.

“Bruce!”

Batman turned to see Spoiler angrily marching towards him, free of her bonds. The Dark Knight blinked and looked back at the villain. _No._ He brushed the image of Joker from his mind and refocused on reality: Cluemaster.

“He can’t tell us anything with a broken jaw,” said the purple-clad vigilante sternly, never afraid to challenge her mentor.

“I hope there are no hard feelings between us, Stephanie. That little death trap was just for show--” began Arthur, before he was cut off by his daughter kicking him in the groin.

“Fuck you, Dad!” yelled Spoiler as she nursed the rope marks on her forearms. “Give us answers!”

“Don’t be sore losers, now,” groaned Cluemaster through gritted teeth. “You got the first two prizes. That’s a big win.”

Grabbing the man by the back of his head, Batman swung the rogue around to face the empty vault behind ‘Door Number 3’.

“The bomb’s gone. What’s your game?!” growled the Dark Knight, shaking the villain as he tried to extract his answer.

“All I needed was thirty minutes. Thirty minutes they said… to keep your eyes drawn,” the villain rasped.

“Who, damn it?! Who put you up to this?!” ordered Batman. “Cain?!”

Spoiler was shaking her head. “Those riddles fucking sucked too. You know they’re only clues if they lead to something, right?”

“I demand your focus, yet should deserve none. My reason for being is clear as soon as you’ve won. What am I?” asked Cluemaster, chuckling softly.

The Dark Knight’s eyes widened. “A distraction,” he answered coldly, dropping the villain and taking a step back as the realization hit him. The transport… the times had been too close together. Whoever was behind this, they’d used the same method as when Jason was taken to blind him. “Oracle!” shouted Batman as he hurriedly tapped his comm. “I need you to reboot the security feeds at--”

It was then that he felt it. A tremor shook him as a loud eruption echoed from outside the facility, almost like thunder. The World’s Greatest Detective only had to glance at his team to know that they had felt it too. Batman hurriedly crossed the room, racing backward along the trail of orange arrows as he made his way towards the entrance. He prayed he was wrong, but Bruce had felt such a disturbance before. Lying in the cave with his back broken as Bane activated explosions from all across Gotham. It was the same now. Destruction.

The other vigilantes flanked Batman as he emerged back into fresh air and stared out across the city. The point of origin was miles away, yet the smoke could already be seen rising from above the skyline.

“My god,” said Bluebird, staring in disbelief at the size of the explosion.

Batman’s expression was grim as the Joker’s phantom laughter rang in his ears and the realization washed over him. They hadn’t bombed the city, it was worse than that. They’d bombed Arkham.

_Damian._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! It’s good to finally have Cluemaster defeated and Tim/Stephanie back to safety. But the climactic finish has hardly begun, dear readers! Credit to u/B_Skizzle and u/JessieDoodle for two of those clues. Join me next week as we flashback a few precious moments to Damian’s POV, and see how the transportation of Deathstroke may just have gone horribly wrong. If this story piques your interest in any way, be sure to leave a comment as the feedback is a great motivator for my fragile ego. I’ll catch you next week; same bat time, same bat channel.


	16. Extraction

> **Arkham Island, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Friday, June 17th, 2022, 21:19 EDT**

The Bat-Signal seemed to be mocking Damian, piercing through Gotham’s dark clouds to signify that the city’s heroes were needed to stop a dangerous threat. Despite the peril to his adopted half-sibling… and Brown, as well as the city, the Boy Wonder had been forced onto guard duty by his father. Typical. News establishments referred to Batman as ‘the World’s Greatest Detective’, yet Father seemed incapable of using Damian’s talents in any useful way whatsoever.

“I can drive, you know,” muttered Robin, arms folded as he peered through the car’s window and up at the signal in the sky.

“No,” said Black Canary firmly, slowing down so she could keep the Batmobile behind the prisoner transport truck.

“I know how,” he explained.

“No.”

_ “Stopping for bridge,” _ said Huntress over the comms. She was up at the head of the column, leading the escort.

Father had delegated his b-team, Oracle’s Birds of Prey, to escorting Deathstroke to Arkham Asylum. Damian was stuck with them, babysitting a criminal who had already been beaten while the other members of the Batfamily ran point on the main mission. Typical.

“You’re very cheery tonight, Robin,” said Canary mockingly as Arkham Island’s bridge was lowered.

“Tt,” scoffed Damian. “Tell me, Canary. Do you feel that your presence is valuable here?”

The heroine raised an eyebrow as she began driving the car across the Arkham bridge. “What? You feeling left out cause your dad stuck you here instead of bringing you along to the big performance with the other dozen vigilantes?”

Robin slammed his first down on the dashboard. “We’re backup for the police! Guarding a man who’s already in chains. Meanwhile, the real threat prevails! I should be fighting against it with Father.”

_ “I don’t think it’s possible to be considered a threat when your name is Cluemaster,”  _ chimed in Huntress over the comms.  _ “Trust me, kid. Black Canary and I have gone toe-to-toe with Deathstroke before. He’s far more dangerous than Spoiler’s dad.” _

“Spare me your half-baked explanations,” said Robin, rolling his eyes beneath his domino mask. “The bomb is the threat. I’m needed out there; we all are.”

_ “Alright, time to zip it, demon spawn,”  _ said Huntress.  _ “We’re clearing for entry. Let’s join back on the police channels.” _

“See you inside, Hel,” replied Canary, switching them over to the GCPD transport frequency.

_ “—and prepare him for extraction,” _ Captain Maggie Sawyer was saying.  _ “We’re pulling up by the Penitentiary. Warden’s waiting for us there.” _

_ “Captain!”  _ chimed in one of the guards.  _ “The prisoner is beginning to stir. Do we sedate him again?” _

_ “Negative,”  _ replied Sawyer.  _ “We’re already here.” _

Arkham Island was home to six facilities. There was, of course, the old Arkham Manor, then the Penitentiary, the Medical Facility, the Intensive Treatment ward, the Botanical Gardens, and the underground Black Wing -- all located on a heavily-guarded island across a drawbridge, kept away from the rest of Gotham City. The Batmobile followed the police transport trucks, pulling up next to the Penitentiary, where the Warden was waiting with several men to receive them.

“You guys run like clockwork,” greeted Warden Cash. “Right on time.”

Aaron Cash had worked at Arkham Asylum for as long as Father had been Batman. From a measly security guard to the warden in charge of the world’s most dangerous criminals, the man had never been deterred, even when Killer Croc bit off his hand. You had to admire the drive.

“Everything ready for our boy here?” asked Captain Sawyer, clasping the warden’s hand as she nodded to Deathstroke, who was regaining consciousness as the police unloaded him. He’d been sedated on the drive over, just to prevent any trouble.

Huntress pulled up on the Batcycle as the prisoner was being extracted, still in his metal cocoon. “All clear, Captain,” said the hero, waving to Sawyer.

“Thanks for the assist,” she replied, nodding to Huntress and then to Robin and Black Canary.

“The rest of your clan headed to take down Brown?” asked Cash. “The boys are watching the broadcast inside. Think they’re gonna need backup?”

“Oh, they’ve got it,” said Black Canary. “Something tells me Batman will have knocked Cluemaster’s teeth in before we even make it to Midtown.”

“Fair enough,” said the warden, grinning. “Something tells me we might get two new arrivals tonight, but first, we’ll have to see to ‘ol Slade here.” Cash eyed Deathstroke with malice as the assassin was wheeled over to the Penitentiary entrance, strapped to a gurney. “We’ve got a cozy cell with your name on it, Wilson.”

“I’m trembling with anticipation,” said Deathstroke. “Or would be, if I could move anything below the neck.”

“You’re lucky to be feeling anything below the neck, you son of a bitch,” spat one of the guards.

“How about we move this conversation inside?” asked Captain Sawyer. “What say you, boys?”

Cheers and applause went up from the crowd of police officers and prison guards as Slade Wilson was wheeled into Arkham Asylum. The entrance to the Black Wing--this section, anyway--was straight ahead, away from the other cell blocks. Trailing slowly behind the others, Robin noticed two guards who were leaning attentively over a security terminal, completely ignoring the new arrivals. 

“Ohhhhhhhhhhh shit, son!” yelled one of them suddenly.

The other guard glanced up at Damian. “Ey yo, Robin! Come check this out,” he said, waving the Boy Wonder over.

Curious, Damian approached the desk and peered at their monitor, which was tuned into Cluemaster’s broadcast. Batman was on the screen, stepping onto the villain’s stage as he prepared to play Brown’s game.

“Boss man’s ‘bout to get it  _ done _ !” exclaimed the first man as the guards eagerly awaited the hero’s next move.

Scoffing, Robin walked away. 

Black Canary and Huntress had stopped in the center of the corridor with the warden as the security team examined Deathstroke. 

“He ain’t hiding anything under that metal suit, right?” asked one of the guards.

“Nope,” confirmed one of the officers. “We checked him ten fucking times at the station, and you can confirm that when you take the suit off downstairs.”

“What about the eyepatch? I don’t have to look under there, right? Shit’s nasty.”

The policemen shook his head. “Nothing funny under there.”

“We’ll get him a new one tomorrow,” explained one of the Arkham doctors.

As the security team gave the all-clear, Black Canary clasped her hands together. “Well, that’s good enough for me. What do you think, Warden? Satisfied?”

“Hell yeah,” said Cash. “It’ll be good to have that animal locked away.”

Huntress yawned. “Well, guess us three better get while the getting’s good,” she said, nodding to Canary and Robin.

“What? Not sticking around?” complained Deathstroke mockingly. “From what I’ve heard, it’ll be pretty lonely down there.”

“Consider this a goodbye,” said Black Canary cooly.

Wilson grinned at her. “Ah, that’s too bad. Give my farewell to Ollie, will you? Always liked that one.”

Canary’s nostrils flared at the mention of her husband, Green Arrow. Deathstroke knowing their identities was an unfortunate circumstance, a threat he could constantly dangled over them, and many other heroes.

“Sorry. Revealing secret identities is a taboo and all. My mistake.” The mercenary glanced over at Damian, winking at him-- well, considering that Wilson only had one eye, it was more like blinking. “I feel bad, Boy Wonder. You spent all those hours guarding my cell. Don’t you wanna see how it all pays off?” asked Deathstroke coyly.

Robin frowned at the man as he was taken away. All that time at the GCPD, and the assassin had made no trouble. Now, what was he implying? Was Deathstroke trying to mislead Damian, or was the mercenary exactly where he wanted to be?

“Warden,” said Robin sharply as he turned to Cash. “You said that Wilson’s cell was fully prepped?”

“...Well, that’s why you’re here, ain’t it?” said the hook-handed man, confused.

Damian crossed his arms, racking his brain. “And you’re sure there’s no chance of escape?”

Black Canary rolled her eyes. “Robin, Ra’s al Ghul has been held here successfully for three years. It’s secure.”

The warden raised his hand. “Don’t worry. I can handle this.” Folding his arms, Cash looked at Damian. “The Black Wing is the most secure prison in the world. It cost a hundred million to build and another hundred million for additional security features. Ten cells for the elite members of the Shadows we captured, and another half-dozen for any other high-priority targets we manage to round up. Each cell is in a separate wing, each with its own elevator shaft. Hell, we don’t even keep the elevators  _ in _ the elevator shafts. We put this one in this morning, just for the transfer. The inmates are sealed into their cells behind three feet of concrete, plus some of the thickest glass in the world. On top of that, we’ve got endless protocols and contingencies in place. The whole goddamn island will fall into the sea before Ra’s al Ghul makes it out. Anything goes wrong up here, the lower level shuts down completely. Any disturbance or tampering with our security measures of  _ any _ kind triggers a full lockdown. Hell, the place isn’t even on the grid. It has its  _ own _ grid. And when it’s locked down? Even I can’t get in there. Only one person has the authority to override it.”

“Who?” asked Robin suspiciously.

“The mayor. He and Bruce Wayne got this whole operation up and running. No one else has access to the facility.”

_ A likely story, _ thought Damian. Father may not have override access, but the Boy Wonder knew full-well that Batman had made sure to install a secret, satellite Batcave amid the supermax prison so that he could keep his own tabs on the inmates.

“You practice that speech every night before bed?” asked Huntress curiously.

“Only before every investor meeting,” confessed Cash.

Black Canary looked over at Damian. “You convinced, Boy Wonder? ‘Cause even I’d buy into supermax prisons after that pitch.”

Robin shook his head. “Something’s not right, Warden. I’m going with him.” He glanced back at Huntress. “You take the car with Canary, leave me the bike.”

“Uh, no,” scoffed the heroine. “I’ll give you the bike as soon as you show me your driver’s license.”

“Tt.”

“That’s what I thought.” Huntress draped her arm around Black Canary as the two began walking back down the hall. “You can bat-uber yourself home, kid. I’ve got a vodka martini and a bath waiting for me back in California. Au revoir.”

Robin angrily turned away from the other heroes and faced the warden. “I’m going.”

Cash shrugged his shoulders. “Be my guest, man. No time for a chit-chat, though. You’ll have to come up with the guards once Deathstroke’s sealed in his cell.”

Nodding, Damian turned down the corridor and quickened his pace to catch up with the mercenary’s guard. Alas, he was too dignified to run and the doors had closed by the time he reached the elevator.

“Stand back, Robin,” said the guard operating the controls. “Wait behind the white line; we’ll send you down next in a minute here.”

Crossing his arms, the Boy Wonder took a few steps back and waited. Robin wasn’t entirely sure what he suspected, but something was amiss, and he was going to find out what. Damian had no intention of running to join his father right as the fighting ended. Deathstroke was at the center of this. If he were hiding something, then it would be up to the son of Batman to discern the truth. Then, Father might begin to realize the folly of underestimating his greatest pupil.

After what seemed like an eternity, the elevator doors opened and Robin was ushered forward. Waving the guards away, Damian stepped into the box alone and began to descend into the heart of Arkham Asylum.

It was halfway down when Robin began to make out the voices of the guards below.

“Fair’s fair,” one of them way saying. “We took your metal suit, so let’s give you a nice inhibitor collar to make up for it.”

“No metahuman powers. That means no enhanced strength or durability,” said another. “You make a move, we put two through your chest and save the taxpayers a whole lot of grief.”

“Good to have my hands free again,” muttered Deathstroke, laughing.

“Keep ‘em where we can see them,” warned the first guard.

As he neared the bottom of the elevator shaft, Robin heard the mercenary yawning loudly. “Mind if I remove my patch for a second? The socket gets itchy sometimes.”

“Take all the time you want, pal. We’ll just be literally sealing you to your fate here.” 

Damian heard the sounds of the guards beginning to drill the cell shut. The elevator was ten feet from the ground.

“You know what my favorite thing about this eyepatch is?” asked Deathstroke.

Five feet.

“It covers that ugly fucking hole in your face?” proposed one of the guards.

One foot.

“Close, though, my favorite feature has to be the electromagnetic pulse generator hidden inside.”

The elevator had reached the bottom. The doors were just beginning to open as Deathstroke finished speaking. Damian didn’t even have time to register what the assassin had said before the device was activated. The white lights switched to emergency red and everything locked down. The elevator doors froze in their place as the box shut off, leaving them just a sliver open, providing a helpless Robin with a window to watch the slaughter.

Slade Wilson had somehow smuggled in a device to disrupt all the technology in the Black Wing. It activated the lockdown, trapping Damian in the elevator. Worse, it deactivated Deathstroke’s inhibitor collar. The villain ripped it off with replenished strength as he kicked the barely-secured glass covering for his cell away, knocking one guard against the wall. Deathstroke dodged the first gunshot with ease, grabbing the weapon and flinging it at another of his captors. The mercenary grabbed the next man, pummeling him to unconsciousness.

The two other guards tried to flee towards the elevators.

“Ted! Call someone! We need the National Guard!”

“I can’t!” yelled another guard in return.

“What? Radios not working?” asked Deathstroke mockingly as he grabbed the nearest guard and knocked him to the ground with one blow.

The guard called Ted pulled his firearm out and aimed it point-blank at the assassin’s head.

“Don’t be stupid now,” warned Deathstroke. “No one’s paying me to kill you. Why end your life over nothing?”

Ted fired round after round, but Wilson dodged all of them, grabbing the man in a chokehold and snapping his neck swiftly.

_ NO! _ Robin strained furiously against the pried elevator doors as he heard the sickening sound of the guard’s neck snap. At the sound of disturbance, Deathstroke turned back towards the elevator, forcing Damian to quickly hide behind one of the doors. Thankfully, the mercenary didn’t spot him, but Robin seemingly couldn’t escape the elevator and was powerless to halt Wilson’s assault of the guards.

Peering through the crack in the doors once more, Damian saw that one of the men on the ground was stirring. Deathstroke saw it too.

“What’s your name, son?” asked the assassin.

“Kenneth,” replied the guard through gritted teeth. The man tried to reach for his weapon, but Deathstroke slammed his foot down on Kenneth’s hand, breaking it instantly.

“None of that now.”

The security guard was suppressing a howl as he clutched his crushed hand. “That s..stunt you p..pulled. It doesn’t matter. L..lockdown activated. The cavalry’s g..gonna come down here and kick y..your ass.”

“Ah, that’s the beauty of it, Kenneth,” said Deathstroke. “Fabric fiber-weave technology; state of the art. The pulse knocked out the grid down here, but your boys upstairs won’t know it’s locked down till the routine check-in in fifteen minutes. Hell, with all the excitement surrounding Cluemaster’s broadcast, it may be even longer. Either way, it’s enough.”

The guard smiled through a mouth of blood and chipped teeth. “Maybe so, but you’re still stuck down here. Only one person can override the lockdown. They’ll have to call in Mayor March.”

Deathstroke smirked. “You so sure?”

Damian gritted his teeth as he peered through the crack in the doors, trying to see what the assassin was up to. The man had stepped out of view.  _ What was he doing? _

“Kind of odd that there’s nothing loadbearing here, isn’t it, Kenneth?” said the mercenary. The sounds of Deathstroke tapping on the wall could be heard. “Seems kinda hollow compared to the rest of the place. Don’t tell me you guys have a secret room?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re on about, Wilson,” spat Kenneth. “There’s nowhere you can go.”

“Nah, you guys wouldn’t have a secret room here. But I think I know who might.”

_ Damn you, Father,  _ thought Damian. The hidden Batcave. It must be located behind this chamber. If someone had gotten into it from the other side… but no, it wouldn’t matter. The lockdown couldn’t be ended without the override codes. Trying to blow a hole in the cell now would only alert the guards when the assassin had gone through all the trouble of keeping his escape quiet.

“You behind this wall?” called out Deathstroke.

“Indeed we are,” came a voice through the metal. “The pulse didn’t knock out Batman’s computer, just as Hurt theorized.”

The mercenary stepped back into view. “What do we say we get this show on the road then?”

“Initiating override sequence,” replied a second voice from behind the wall. “Deactivate auxiliary security measures.”

Now Damian heard the sound of Father’s computer.  _ “Face recognized. Speech pattern recognized. Passkey?” _

“Willowwood,” said the second voice softly. 

As soon as Robin heard the password spoken, the dim, red lights of the lockdown procedures switched to their typical fluorescent white. The elevator was still powerless, knocked out by the EMP, but the doors opened suddenly. Racing to stay out of Deathstroke’s view, Damian jumped to the ceiling and clung tightly to it, trying to pry the ceiling hatch open with his foot. Thankfully, the mercenary didn’t wander over to check why the elevator was still here, allowing Robin to slip out of the box and into the shaft.  _ So much for only the mayor having access _ , he thought bitterly.

“Charges primed,” said the first voice from behind the wall. “You may want to step back.”

“Duly noted,” replied Deathstroke.

Damian growled under his breath as heard the sounds of explosives blowing a hole into Slade Wilson’s prison cell. Lowering his head just enough through the elevator hatch so as not to be seen while still regaining visibility, Robin watched grimly as two men stepped into the chamber, leading a group of underlings behind them. The first was the person the Boy Wonder had heard overriding the Arkham lockdown, the new villain Grayson and Todd had encountered: Owlman. Worse still was the second man, sporting the cunning visage of a man Damian recognized all too well: David Cain, a member of the Shadows’ inner circle who had evaded captivity.

“How was prison, Slade?” asked Cain mockingly as he, Owlman, and a series of footsoldiers trickled into the chamber.”   
“Not for me. Never has been,” offered Deathstroke. “Been thinking about a change of scenery.”

David Cain was smirking as he peered around at the corridor. “Well, we do have to extract something first.” 

Robin clutched at his cape as he leaned his body down through the hatch of the elevator, trying to see what was happening while being as far out of view as possible. Suddenly, Damian heard the sound of other explosives going off.  _ The other cells,  _ thought Robin.  _ Grandfather. _

“I disabled the shielding in front of the glass,” explained Owlman as he and Cain prepared to enter through a new hole in the wall and into the next cell chamber. 

“Well, our men better get drilling then,” said Cain as the soldiers successfully blasted through the wall.

After a minute, every last one of the assassins’ men had disappeared through the hole and into the next containment chamber. Cautiously, Robin dropped down from the elevator hatch and finally made his way into the corridor where Deathstroke was supposed to have been imprisoned. Besides Ted, the other guards were alive but unconscious. Kenneth seemed to have passed out from the pain. Damian silently made his way through the chamber and towards the new hole, crouching low and peering just slightly over the edge.

The mercenaries were indeed in a hurry. The men scurried around the corridor, preparing high-tech drilling equipment, as David Cain and the Owlman barked orders.

“You!” shouted Cain to one of his men. “Get working on the other prisoner.”

The soldier nodded his acknowledgment and raced off towards the end of the corridor, where the men were preparing to blast a hole into  _ another _ cell. Owlman was carefully handing a duffle bag to Deathstroke, his movements ginger.

“The timer’s set,” said the new villain. “Take it to the elevator.”

Deathstroke nodded, racing out of sight.

And finally, behind the thick glass of his cell was Arkham’s most high profile prisoner: Ra’s al Ghul. The past three years had not been kind to Damian’s grandsire. Ra’s had used the Lazarus Pits to extend his life for hundreds of years. While they healed his body, the Demon’s Head had required the use of them more and more as he’d depended on the pits for survival. Locked away in the darkness of Arkham’s high-security wing, Ra’s had withered. His skin was cracked and gaunt, peeling away to age. His thick, black mane of hair had become a patchy, thin grey. The strong man who had nearly killed Batman in hand-to-hand combat on multiple occasions was gone, replaced by a frail figure who couldn’t weigh more than Damian.

The Demon’s Head had been replaced by an elderly prisoner, chained and beaten, waiting to die.

“How the mighty have fallen,” said Cain spitefully.

Ra’s looked up. “David Cain. So you’re the cause of all this commotion.” Grandfather’s words were quiet. He peered through the glass at the sounds of disturbance but didn’t seem to see them. The glass shielding seemed to operate as some kind of two-way mirror. Nevertheless, the Demon’s emerald gaze pierced through.

“We’ll talk face-to-face,” promised Cain. “This reunion is long overdue.”

Minutes went by as the villains continued with their obnoxious drilling. Robin tried everything he could, but all his gadgets and means of contacting the cave had been taken out by the EMP. He was out of options. Grandfather, one of the most dangerous men alive, was about to walk free. When Drake had made his move on the League of Shadows, Damian’s entire world had fallen apart. His family had been overthrown and the League’s mission thwarted. But after training under Father and becoming the newest Boy Wonder, Damian understood that his grandsire was wrong. The culling of criminals could not save the world. If Ra’s al Ghul was allowed to walk free, the entire planet would be in danger, and so would the new life Robin had built for himself. It could not be allowed.

“Enough of this!” shouted Damian as he burst into the chamber, sporting his sword. “This folly is over.”

The men turned to face the newcomer as Owlman and his soldiers finished cutting through the glass, exposing Grandfather to the rest of the chamber.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” said Cain, chuckling. “A regular family reunion, eh? The great Demon’s Head and his daughter’s whelp.”

Robin eyed the man menacingly. “Stop drilling into that cell! You seem desperate to open one up; have no fear, you’ll get your own soon.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Boy Wonder,” said Owlman. “We came all this way, after all.”

Cain’s hand was on his knife, eyes locked on the lenses of Damian’s mask. He was ready. David Cain was one of the best fighters the League of Shadows had ever known. One on one, Robin could take him. But Cain, Deathstroke, and twenty of their men? Not even the son of Batman could survive such an ordeal. But Damian could fight. He could push them back, keep them busy. Buy time for Father and the others to realize what was going on.

Suddenly, Cain relaxed, dropping his hand from his knife and spreading his arms. “You know what? Since we’re reuniting estranged family members, let’s make it a regular family reunion.”

Robin heard the sounds of movement behind him. With heightened reflexes, the Boy Wonder spun around to face the threat, keeping his weapon trained on Cain. It was six of the villains’ footsoldiers, holding the second prisoner: Talia al Ghul.

“Mother...” said Damian, barely more than a whisper. It had been years.

“Stand down, boy,” warned Deathstroke, moving with metahuman speed and positioning his blade against Robin’s throat. “We didn’t come here for you.”

_ Damn you, Cain _ . Shamefully, Damian lowered his weapon and allowed himself to be restrained by the assassins’ men. Talia al Ghul had lived for centuries too. While she had by no means come to rely on the pit as much as her father, a three-year absence from the healing waters of the Lazarus Pit had left her weak. But despite the aging, she was still beautiful. Copper skin and dark eyes, Mother was a fierce warrior. Though their relationship had changed much in recent years, Damian still loved and admired her. But now she wouldn’t even look upon her son, merely fixing her gaze on her captors.

“We didn’t come here for you, little Robin. We came here for Ra’s,” finished Cain, turning to his former master as the soldiers grabbed the weakened man roughly by the shoulders and dragged him out of the cell.

The Demon’s Head was thrown onto the hard floor, his breath catching as he struggled to rise to his knees. The man regained his composure, staring intently at Cain with his haunting, green eyes. “I take it you haven’t come here for a daring rescue, David,” said Ra’s cooly. His words were hoarse and quiet. “You’re a few years too late for that.”

“‘Fraid not,” admitted Cain. “You’ve always been a man who looked to the future, Great One. Your mission continues on, but I’m afraid that you no longer factor into the equation.”

“You dare speak to him this way?” questioned Mother. “The man you have served all your life?”

“Quiet, Talia,” warned Deathstroke. “We’ll deal with you in a moment.”

David Cain was silent for a time, staring at Ra’s and contemplating. “I’ve thought of this moment for years. I wasn’t sure it was even possible that I’d be able to stand before you once more. But all these people have come together to pull off the greatest prison break in the history of the world, all so that we could ask you something.”

“A question only I can answer,” said Ra’s, nodding. “Ask what you would.”

“Very well. A man doesn’t live for six hundred years without implementing contingencies,” said Cain, beginning to pace around the chamber. “I understood when you ordered that the pits at our bases around the world be destroyed, given the heroes pouring down from the heavens, but do you really expect me to believe you destroyed  _ all _ of them? No. I scoured the Shadows’ journals and Bane confirmed it: there’s one pit left. Here, somewhere in Gotham.”

Bane was involved in this too? Damian’s mind was racing. He knew that these villains had been searching for a pit. They’d found the journals at Cluemaster’s hideout. But why? No matter how powerful they were, Cain had no use for them on his own. What was the angle here?

The mercenary stood in front of the Demon now, peering down at the man he’d once bowed to. “Give us the location of the last Lazarus Pit. See your lifelong mission fulfilled.”

Ra’s was quiet for a time, pondering his former student’s eyes. “I’m truly sorry, my boy,” he said sadly. “I can see that you have lost faith in our cause… in the mission. This new path that you have found… it has led you to betray everything you know -- willingly. It has led you back to the city you hate.” Ra’s shook his head. “I hope that you find peace in this new cause, David. But what you ask… that is something I cannot give to you. The secret of the Lazarus Pit, of  _ our _ mission… that belongs to me, to my Shadows, and to my heir. You forfeit your right to our help when you betrayed the League. You will never have answers from me again.”

Even at his weakest, Ra’s al Ghul cast a taller shadow than anyone else in the room.

Despite being faced with his former master’s harsh refusal, Cain still smirked. “And there it is.” Standing abruptly, the assassin spread his arms and looked around at the men in the room. “The great Ra’s al Ghul has finally made a mistake. You admitted what I had long suspected: that there’s one more person who knows the location.” Cain turned back to face the Demon’s Head, crouching in front of the restrained man. “You said you wouldn’t tell me where the last Lazarus Pit is, and you know what? I believe you.”

In one swift motion, Cain brought his dagger across Ra’s al Ghul’s throat, cutting through flesh and arteries as he severed the man’s trachea and jugular vein in one fell swoop, spilling blood across the floor.

“NO!” screamed Mother, fighting against the six men restraining her as she struggled towards Cain with primal force.

Shocked and enraged, Robin tried to fight against his captors too, but both he and his mother were held back.

“Now, now, Talia,” chided Cain, “that’s not very sporting.”

“You would kill a man in unarmed combat?!” spat Mother. “You were too cowardly to face my father, even at his weakest!”

Cain shook his head. “Ah ah ah. Your father isn’t dead. At least… he doesn’t have to be.” The mercenary bent down and cupped her chin. “That, my dear, is entirely up to you.”

Now it was the Owlman’s turn to speak. “You were your father’s heir, Ms. al Ghul. He may have doubted you at times, but he trusted you with his secrets -- including the pit’s location. While your lifetime may only have been half as long as your father’s thus far, that’s still three hundred years. You need that pit to survive too. Take us to it, and you and Ra’s may live for many more centuries.”

“You might even be onboard with what we’re selling. The Shadows’ mission continues, in a way. Just without your father’s shortsighted leadership,” explained Cain.

“I will never stand beside you,” said Mother venomously. “You will die painfully, David Cain.”

“That was never in doubt,” replied the assassin, laughing.

“Mother!” cried Robin. “You can’t tell them! You think Grandfather would want to be resurrected if it meant giving up everything to his failed pupils?”

“Hush, Damian,” said Talia quietly. Slowly, still trembling with anger, she raised her head and looked at Owlman. “I will take you there, but,” she raised her hand, “my son comes with me.”

“No,” said Cain harshly. “You may hold valuable information, but we have your father, and you. You’re in no position to be making demands.”

Mother scowled. “He’s my son--”

“No, he’s not,” replied the mercenary. “I know for a fact that you’ve sired a dozen children in your lifetime, Talia. This one is simply the latest model.” Cain eyed Robin with malice. “Besides, he wears his father’s colors now. He may be your blood, but that’s Batman’s son.”

“Mother! You can’t possibly be going along with this!” yelled Damian, incredulous.

The daughter of the Demon took one last look at her son before closing her eyes and nodding. “Leave him then. Just…” She seemed as if she was going to say something more. Did she want to plead for Damian’s life? Say goodbye? Whatever had crossed her mind, Talia al Ghul simply bowed her head and stayed silent, allowing herself to be taken away by the villains’ men.

“We’ve got a schedule to keep, boys,” announced Cain. “Let’s pack it up.”

Robin was dragged off into the corner of the chamber as the soldiers picked up the still-bleeding body of the Demon’s Head. Deathstroke emerged from the elevator shaft where he’d been quietly working, and exited through the hole in the wall with Cain, following Talia. Eventually, the only people left in the room were the Boy Wonder, Owlman, and five of his men.

“A pity,” said the new villain, eyeing Damian closely. “I had such meticulous plans for you, boy. A shame you had to be here tonight.”

With that, Owlman turned and disappeared through the exit, cape swishing behind him.

Six soldiers forced Robin into a corner as they prepared to kill their prey. They would not succeed. The electromagnetic pulse may have disabled Damian’s more colorful gadgets, but he still had Batarangs o’ plenty. He countered all six men, turning their attacks against them. These men may have trained under the same Shadows the Boy Wonder had in his youth, but they’d never trained with Batman.

After dispatching the henchmen, Damian ran back through the corridors and into the satellite Batcave, which had been equally blown apart by Cain and his men to gain entrance. When Robin broke onto the surface of Arkham Asylum, he spotted his enemies immediately. They were at the bottom of the hill, thirty yards away, where a boat was positioned at the edge of the water. 

“We’ll circle back around!” Owlman was shouting, hurriedly motioning for his men to bring Mother aboard. The villains were all racing for something, still on the clock.

Damian sped towards them, running down the hill as fast as his legs would carry him. 

“I spot a little ball of trouble headed our way,” shouted Deathstroke when he spotted the Boy Wonder headed towards the boat, spurred on by fury.

“I’ll take him,” said Cain, smiling as he stepped off the boat and onto the bank.

Robin had to stop that boat. He had to beat Cain. The villains could not win the day.

Damian unsheathed his sword as he met David Cain at the edge of the water, swinging it at the villain in a wide arc. Robin’s attacks carried force but had precision as well. Nevertheless, every blow the Boy Wonder threw was countered. While he’d beaten Cain before, it was no easy fight, and Damian was unfocused. The assassin fought off Robin’s sword with his own knives, spinning them and countering at first before he began to press the younger fighter back. Damian gritted his teeth. The attacks kept coming, but… he had to win this.

“You will not have this fight, Cain,” roared Damian, trying to regain his edge in the fight.

“You always were an arrogant little bastard, Damian,” spat Cain as he threw Robin off balance, and immediately took advantage of the moment of weakness, stabbing the boy in the chest.

Damian gasped and sputtered as he felt the blade embed itself in his body, puncturing his lung. Robin stumbled over a rock and fell, landing hard on his side.

“Now normally I wouldn’t recommend removing that blade, since it’ll fill your lungs with blood faster and all,” explained Cain. “Unfortunately for you, I’m low on time… and that’s my favorite knife.”

In one fluid motion, David Cain mercilessly ripped the dagger out of Damian’s chest. Robin writhed on the ground as blood poured from his wound and began to fill his lung, making it nearly impossible to breathe. As the Boy Wonder struggled for life, Cain merely sheathed his blade and adjusted his coat before continuing down the hill and towards the boat. Robin thought he heard his mother cry out for him, but perhaps that was only in his imagination.

From his earliest memories, death had always been an important part of Damian’s life. The League of Shadows practically worshipped it, and Ra’s conquered it with his Lazarus Pits. The League had combated injustice, fought for life and preservation of the natural world, by killing criminals and immoral men. Death had been Damian’s legacy. But when he’d met Father, everything had changed. Batman had shown his son that justice could not be found in murder. True justice was found in fighting for life, not condemning the guilty. Damian had vowed to fight till the last breath. But he had failed. He’d failed to save his grandfather and he’d failed to stop Cain from taking his mother, and all the harm that could come of that. He now realized that he’d failed to fully notice Deathstroke’s disappearance to the elevator with the bag, which could only be trouble. As his blood soaked through the red chest plate of his costume, Damian thought of the people he was failing. Father, Grayson, and his other half-siblings. Mother. Kent, Ducard, and the other Titans. Gotham, the city he’d come to tolerate. He even thought of Kyle. And his dog. Damian would miss Titus most of all. 

The son of Batman, and he couldn’t even save the day.

Robin heard the boat speeding away as he died, lying on the bank and contemplating his failures. There was some commotion up at the Penitentiary. It didn’t matter, they wouldn’t make it to Damian in time. But there was something else… some _ one _ else on the water, seemingly gliding towards the Boy Wonder. His eyes had begun to glaze over, but Robin could still make out the figure. The family… had they for him? Suddenly, the figure was standing above him, picking Damian up in his strong arms and cradling the boy as he raced down the hill.  _ Father? _ But no. This was someone different. Their suit was all black, and while it resembled Batman’s costume, the details were all wrong. The logo was pure red, and the entire suit seemed sleeker somehow.

“Damn it, Damian,” muttered the man. “You just had to go dying on me right when the bad guys finally showed up.”

When he spoke, the man’s mouth moved free of any covering, despite the cowl stretching over his entire face. The suit wasn’t just sleeker, it was advanced. More advanced than anything Drake and Fox were working on. It was thin and flexible, yet sturdy and protective. Robin had never seen anything quite like it before.

“Come on, don’t fail me now,” muttered the man as he raced towards the edge of the island.

He was heading for an outcropping of rock that jutted out harshly over the sea, creating a twenty-foot drop. Hardly a safe landing. Damian tried to warn him, but he could barely maintain consciousness as he drowned in his own blood. The man reached the edge of the cliff and leapt off. The two fell… until suddenly, they weren’t. Robin wasn’t sure if his brain was deceiving him, but it seemed as if his savior’s suit had sprouted wings. They were flying, flying away from Arkham.

And then the bomb went off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crisis at Arkham! The first phase of the villains’ plan has been set into motion, and Batman and his allies must race to the island to salvage what they can and figure out who is at the center of all this. Join us next week as Stephanie Brown suits up as Spoiler once more, fed up from her father’s captivity and ready to kick some ass. If you’re liking this story so far, please consider leaving a comment as I love hearing feedback. I’ll catch you next week; same bat time, same bat channel.


	17. Massacre

> **Arkham Island, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Friday, June 17th, 2022, 21:38 EDT**

Steph had been kidnapped, sedated, and held prisoner on live television for over twenty-four hours. Not exactly the ideal day for a superhero. To make things more embarrassing, her dad was responsible. If there was any justice in the world, Steph would be at home eating waffles (the only comfort food, as far as she was concerned), watching copious amounts of _Grey’s Anatomy_ , and spending some quality time with Tim. But no, Arkham had to do what Arkham does best: fail as a prison.

“Batman to Watchtower,” said Bruce, pressing his ear to his comm as the Batwing tore through the sky towards Arkham Island.

_“Batman! It’s so great to hear from you. You don’t call, you don’t write--”_

“Not now, Plas,” barked Batman. “We have an omega-level threat. Arkham has been compromised; requesting full Justice League response.”

“It just _had_ to be Plastic Man on monitor duty,” chuckled Tim as he fixed his bo-staff together.

 _“I’ll gather the troops and zeta them to the Clocktower,”_ said Plastic Man, his demeanor now humorless. _“We’re short on a lot of our big guns right now. Wonder Woman is leading a squad on Rann, the Flashes are rescuing civilians from a hurricane in Rhelasia, and Superman is meeting with the dinosaur people at the Earth’s core. Still, we should be able to round up a few heavy-hitters. Are you on your way to Arkham now?”_

“No,” said Batman, switching the plane to autopilot as he opened the hatch. “We’re already here.”

Spoiler joined Cardinal, Mockingbird, Nightwing, and Batman as they dived out of the Batwing and towards the smoking ruins of Arkham Asylum. Landing lightly after the short drop, Steph gazed up at her surroundings. Whoever was behind this latest breakout had seemingly been in a hurry. The Penitentiary had been ripped apart, likely by Dad’s bomb, and flaming chunks of metal and brick were strewn across the torn Arkham grounds. The rest of the island was a similar scene. The Asylum had been ripped open by the blast, leaving nothing but fire, debris, and of course, criminals. GCPD vehicles were parked in front of the Penitentiary, likely from Deathstroke’s transport. One of the cars had been overturned by the explosion. Worse, while some cops stumbled around coughing, others lay on the ground… and they weren’t moving.

Batman strode over to where the front steps of the Penitentiary had been. There was a man lying there in an Arkham uniform, with a hook for a hand.

Cardinal looked at the ground. “Is he...”

“Cash is down,” confirmed Batman sullenly. Standing, he turned back to face the other heroes. “We need to get moving. We have to stop this before it gets out of hand.”

“How are we doing on the bridges?” asked Nightwing worriedly as he flung a Birdarang at an escaping inmate, who was struck and promptly sent rolling down the hill by the projectile.

 _“Getting word from Azrael now,”_ replied Oracle, panic evident in her voice. _“Bridge is up, but prisoners are escaping every which way, and the GCPD has only just started sending their backup forces over. League will be a few minutes out, too. It’s up to us.”_

“Then we split up,” said Batman, not wasting time as he turned back to face the Penitentiary building. “We tackle this efficiently. Divide and conquer the different wards. Hold our own until backup arrives.”

Nightwing sighed. “I’ve got the Medical Facility.” He eyed Steph and Tim. “You two sure you’re ready to get back on your feet?”

“I’m sure I can’t let those inmates run free,” said Tim firmly in his oh-so-Tim-like way.

Stephanie smiled. “I’ll come with you.”

“You won’t be alone,” cut in Cass as she stepped in next to them. “The last time you two went in the field without me, you got kidnapped.”

“Oh, if you insist,” said Steph, beaming as the three friends circled up.

Nightwing smiled. “Cardinal, Spoiler, and Mockingbird will tackle Intensive Treatment then. And I’ll get my ass stomped trying to save the Medical Facility solo.” He twirled his escrima sticks. “Better get going, kids. We’ve got a prison break to stop.”

The three vigilantes set out across the battered Arkham grounds, forcing their way through screaming inmates and roaring flames. The bomb had ripped through the prison like a tidal wave, smashing everything in its path with primal ferocity. Half the island seemed to be on fire, and the other half was covered in debris. It was madness. The three vigilantes had to constantly stop and take down escaping prisoners, sometimes restraining them and dragging them out of harm’s way. 

It was after disabling the fifth escaping prisoner that Cass spoke. “My father… he was the one who took you?”

“Afraid so,” said Tim grimly. “He may be the one behind all this.”

“I saw him,” replied Cass, frowning. “I thought he was a ghost.”

Steph smiled sadly at her best friend. “I’m afraid he’s all too real.” Cass had been seeing visions ever since her resurrection, three years ago. She knew from Jason that it was a cause of the Lazarus Pit.

Cardinal shifted his gear as they made their way across the island, heading for the Intensive Treatment building. “Don’t suppose you guys learned anything more while we were captured?”

“Nothing about my father. We did find evidence on Cluemaster’s benefactor, though,” revealed Mockingbird. “Nightwing and Red Hood stumbled upon a secret meeting under his hideout. A trained fighter calling himself Owlman, seemingly connected to the fabled Court of Owls?”

“Like the nursery rhyme?” asked Spoiler, confused. The Court was an old Gotham legend, though nothing more than that, at least as far as she was aware.

“Batman’s suspected there was some truth to the Owls,” said Cardinal curiously as he ambushed an inmate, kicking out the man’s legs and knocking the prisoner out with his signature bo-staff. “I even investigated them myself at one point. Didn’t amount to much more than some 1% fearmongering.”

Mockingbird threw a Batarang at a nearby inmate, knocking him off a guard tower and into some bushes. “Someone’s taken the legend to heart. Apparently, they even had masks. This Owlman is very real, too. He easily evaded Nightwing and Red Hood.”

“But why Arkham? Why go through all the trouble of infiltrating the world’s most secure prison?” asked Cardinal. He looked to his adopted sister. “Did we find anything that might explain their motives?”

“We did find one thing,” said Mockingbird quietly. “Journals at Cluemaster’s hideout. They held information on the secrets of the Lazarus Pit.”

“Oh, god,” whispered Spoiler. “You don’t think--”

“They’re here for Ra’s,” said Tim, confirming her suspicions. “At least Batman thinks so. No wonder he headed to the Penitentiary. He’s after the Black Wing.”

Steph sighed, stepping over a pile of rubble. This was bad. “Do we go and help?”

“We help by defending the rest of the prison,” replied Cass firmly.

Arriving at the Intensive Treatment facility, Spoiler and her allies discovered more flaming ruins. Various inmates were running about, and the vigilantes did their best to halt their escape. There was no order to this jailbreak. Prisoners were running wild and some were even catching fire in the chaos. It was more than they’d be able to handle. Everywhere they turned, the three heroes were constantly dealing with more and more escapees. Steph could only imagine what their allies were dealing with at the larger facilities. 

It was as they made their way into the heart of Intensive Treatment that Spoiler began to suspect something was amiss. While they’d encountered various inmates injured from the explosion, it was when they made their way into the Intensive Treatment basement that they discovered bodies. Prisoners that had been shot.

Steph stared hard at the bodies on the floor. “Something tells me this might not be your average major prison breakout.”

“No,” agreed Tim, frowning. “Let’s keep going.”

Regaining her composure, Spoiler continued on through the prison, her partners walking beside her. The situation inside the walls of Intensive Treatment was not better than what was unfolding outside. Whole sections of the building were coming down, sometimes blocking the heroes’ path, meaning they had to resort to their patented vent crawling. Most of the inmates were scurrying across the debris-covered floor of the facility, trying to find exits. Spoiler spotted one prisoner still in his cell, rocking himself back in forth as fires burned nearby. After a few minutes, the vigilantes rounded a corner to find an escapee gathering his fellow inmates, waving frantically.

“One of the crazies is trying to escape out the back!” yelled the prisoner, gesturing to the narrow hallway past the holding cells.

Eagerly, the men followed. After a few moments, Spoiler and her friends emerged from the shadows and pursued the prisoner as well. They quietly ran through a twisting series of corridors before emerging into a wider chamber. As the smoke shifted, Spoiler was able to make out the identity of “the crazy”. Edward Nygma, aka the Riddler, was leading a gang of prisoners as they worked to remove blockage from one of the Intensive Treatment exits.

“Move the rocks on the left, you imbecile!” commanded Riddler. “We’re trying to move the debris, not send it crumbling down on top of us!”

“What’s the rush, Nygma?” asked Tim as they moved in to face the villain. “You’ve only been back in Arkham a few months. Stick around.”

Riddler rubbed his temples in frustration as the surrounding inmates grabbed makeshift weapons to face the vigilantes. “We don’t have time for this farce. The whole damn building is coming down atop us!”

Steph pulled out her escrima sticks to dispatch the prisoners, but before she could act, a massive explosion shook the facility as the wall behind Riddler was blasted open. Spoiler and her allies were tossed back like ragdolls with the debris. Her ears still ringing, Steph looked up and blinked back tears from the smoke, staring in shock at the new arrival.

“Bane,” whispered Tim through gritted teeth. He’d bitten his lip, and blood poured off his chin, but the former Boy Wonder eyed the terrorist with malice. They’d all fought Bane during the Cataclysm, but for Tim, it was personal. Bane had killed Tim’s parents.

Despite the vigilantes struggling to get up, the villain ignored them, setting his eyes upon Riddler and the other inmates on the ground. Bane was flanked by two-dozen armed men. Could they be Shadows? The soldiers began pulling the prisoners to their feet as Riddler glared at the newcomer angrily.

“What is this?!” shouted Riddler, coughing and sputtering as he waved his arm through the smoke. “Bane, you ingrate! Is this some botched escape attempt?!”

Bane eyed the fellow villain with sadistic delight as he grabbed Riddler by the neck and hoisted him into the air. “This, Nygma… is long overdue.”

With a sickening crunch, Bane snapped his former ally’s neck. His men followed suit, shooting the inmates dead. _The bodies_ , thought Spoiler as she realized what was happening. This wasn’t an escape attempt.

Mockingbird was the first to rise. She charged at Bane, alerting him to the heroes’ presence as his men moved to counter the vigilante. She fought them all off with ease but was pushed back by the villain.

“Ah,” chuckled Bane darkly as he took in the scene. “Tanto tiempo sin verte, amigos. Timothy Drake, Stephanie Brown, and of course,” he countered another blow from Cass, “the One Who Is All.”

“You fell to me once, Bane,” spat Mockingbird. “You’ll fall again.”

Bane laughed as he continued to press the hero backward. “They trained you to anticipate your attacker’s every move. They bred you to be the perfect bodyguard for the Demon’s Head, a role I went on to fill. While I cannot claim to match your fighting prowess… I have learned how to beat you.”

With a crack, Bane sent Mockingbird flying across the room. Spoiler was on one knee now. She flung one of her escrima sticks at the villain, but he caught it. Snorting, Bane threw it hard at the ground, sending the weapon ricocheting back at Steph. She barely caught it in time.

Cardinal was on the move. Swinging his bo-staff hard, Tim set about attacking Bane. Though he countered all of the vigilante’s attacks, the terrorist still stumbled backward. Tim was aiming for vital points. He was fighting to hurt, to maim, to cripple.

“No Venom?” asked Cardinal as he and the villain clashed.

“A crutch,” said Bane as he blocked the staff with his forearms. “One I no longer require.”

On her feet, Steph took note of Bane’s men, who were standing up as they reloaded their weapons. Nodding to Cass, the two heroes charged at the henchmen, trying to disarm them while Tim struggled against Bane.

“I don’t know what your endgame is, or why you’re massacring inmates,” yelled Tim, “but you won’t win! Mark my words, Bane. Before this is over, I’m going to break your damn back.”

Bane howled with laughter as he caught Cardinal’s bo-staff in his hand, pushing the weapon away and causing Tim to stumble backward. “There’s such fire in you, little bird! I’m afraid this rage will not be the key to your victory.”

The villain lifted Tim over his head, cackling as he tossed the hero out the hole in the Intensive Treatment wall and onto the rough landscape beyond. Grunting in frustration, Steph broke the wrist of her newest dance partner and sent him careening into the rubble, then jumped through the hole so she could go save her boyfriend. 

The grounds behind the Intensive Treatment facility were not paved and consisted of gravel, cracked stone, and burning weeds. They led off into a jagged cliff before dropping out into the sea some sixty feet below. Spoiler ran at Bane, trying to get the drop on him and take out his knees, but was quickly thwarted. She and Cardinal both worked to counter the strong villain’s blows as flames whirled around them. In the corner of her eye, Spoiler saw Mockingbird dive through the hole in the wall to avoid gunfire, fully transitioning the fight to outside.

Though she and Tim were managing to keep Bane busy, Steph knew they were hopelessly outnumbered. Cass was currently trying to fight off some twenty armed men, and they were losing ground. After a few moments, Tim was a second too slow and Bane flung him back, smacking Steph to the ground as well. Assassins aimed their weapons just a few feet from the two vigilantes’ heads as another group forced Cass back towards the edge of the cliff. 

Bane brushed gravel off his jacket as he surveyed the scene, smiling at the captured heroes. One of his men turned to him.

“Sir? Should we kill them?”

“One Robin has already died tonight,” laughed Bane. “What’s a couple more?”

One Robin dead? Steph’s eyes went wide as the realization hit her. _Damian_. It couldn’t be true.

The soldiers moved to fire on the vigilantes, but Bane shook his head.

The villain smiled sinisterly. “Ah-ah-ah. Se caen.”

Spoiler swallowed hard. Se caen. It was Spanish for ‘They fall’. 

“I wish you could see what we were planning for this city,” said Bane, almost sincerely. “But I’m afraid your time has run out, niños.” With a nod, the villain turned around and vanished back into the prison with five of his men.

The fire roared around them as Spoiler and her friends backed up, trying to put distance between themselves and the assassins, who slowly began to push them back towards the edge of the cliff. Mockingbird was making the most headway as she fought her way through the crowd, but eight of them countered, and one stabbed her in the shoulder. Spoiler and Cardinal weren’t having much better luck. Every attempt to gain ground or force the soldiers back was met with harsh resistance, and Steph was too weak from her kidnapping to fight them off.

They were standing at the edge of the cliff now. Cass was wincing from the blade in her shoulder as she countered one assassin after the other. Steph and Tim were doing their best to keep the soldiers back, but it was no good. They were out of ground to retreat to. Steph felt her heel scrape off the edge of the rockface behind her. One glance back showed her that a row of sharp, unforgiven rocks awaited the heroes below. There was only a second before oblivion. She looked at Tim, and he met her gaze. They’d always said they’d go down swinging.

Yeah, this… this was okay.

But before Spoiler could even fully process her impending demise on the rocks below, Bane’s men were blasted with the force of a locomotive, flying back from an enormous blast of wind and landing twenty feet away.

“Need a hand?” asked Supergirl as she landed behind the vigilantes, grabbing Steph and Cass by the shoulder and stopping them from falling backward.

“As long as it isn’t the ‘sonic clap’ kind,” quipped Tim, panting heavily as he brushed soot off his costume. “Don’t think those assassins will be getting up for a while.”

“Well, we thought you guys could use some backup,” said Huntress, cracking her knuckles as she and the other Justice Leaguers arrived on the island.

Spoiler couldn’t help but cheer as dozens of heroes poured out of the sky. Supergirl, Power Girl, Hawkman, Hawkwoman, Miss Martian, Fury, Animal Man, Firestorm. Green Lantern was transporting a contingent of Leaguers through the air with his ring: Huntress, Green Arrow, Black Canary, Raven, Guardian, Aquaman, Hawk, Dove, Frost, Blue Devil, Ice, Doctor Light… too many names to keep track of. And there were more arriving elsewhere on the island.

The cavalry was here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Backup has arrived! The crisis on Arkham Island continues next chapter as we return to Dick Grayson’s POV. The Justice League may be here to save the day, but there are still questions that need answering. Why is Bane carrying out executions on other villains? Is the Black Wing compromised? Where the hell is Damian?! All this and more will be answered next week; same bat time, same bat channel. 
> 
> In the meantime, if you’ve got any thoughts on what is essentially the first act of this massive story, I’d love to hear feedback in the comments below. It’d be great to know what I could do to improve the rest of Misery!


	18. Message

> **Arkham Island, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Friday, June 17th, 2022, 21:45 EDT**

Nightwing was very unhappy to learn that sick people could still be very formidable. He’d rushed to guard the Medical Facility and stop any escaping patients, which he assumed would be a fairly simple task considering that it was a hospital ward. However, Dick found that the whole experience boiled down to a lot of people throwing scales at his head. It was after backflipping over the third scalpel-armed inmate that he began to get annoyed. 

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” sighed Nightwing as he spun around, kicking the prisoner’s legs out from under him and smashing his head into a bedside table.

After a few moments, Dick had dispatched the remaining patients in the x-ray room. After stretching, he retrieved his escrima sticks and walked back into the hallway, barring the door closed behind him.

“Alright, Oracle,” said Dick, tapping his comm. “I’ve got a prison hospital that’s mostly on fire, with half the inmates making a break for it and the rest trying not to die of smoke inhalation. How’s everyone else faring?”

_ “It’s not good, Nightwing,” _ replied Babs. She sounded tired. They all were; it had been a long couple of days.  _ “We’ve got our people arriving on all sides, but the prisoners are running wild. The bridges are down, but I don’t know if we can keep this thing contained. Batman’s trying to get down to the Black Wing. We hope it wasn’t hit, but--” _

“They’re the most likely target,” finished Nightwing, frowning. “We got back-up incoming?”

_ “I’ve got people zeta-ing in from all over, but they’re still a few minutes out. Think you can hold down the fort till then?” _

A nearby inmate was preparing to toss a small filing cabinet through a window, allowing him to make his escape. Dick threw a Birdarang at his hand, causing the man to drop it on his foot and howl in pain. “That’s the plan.”

_ “There’s something else.” _

Nightwing raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

_ “This might not be a simple escape attempt. I’m getting reports from all over… there’s another player on the island.” _

“I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”

Babs sighed.  _ “Okay. Batwoman needs me on the other line. I love you.” _

Nightwing smiled. “Love you too.” He glanced at the prisoner on the ground, who was looking up at Dick strangely. “Not you.” He sent the man into unconsciousness with a single punch.

That was when he heard a gunshot. Then another. Cursing, Dick ran towards the sound of the gunshot -- not always the best thing to do in these situations, but hey, superheroes gotta do what superheroes gotta do.

Racing down a flight of stairs and rounding a corner, Nightwing found himself standing over the dead body of a patient. Could this be the GCPD? Then he looked up and saw the gunmen armed in black. No, no it was not.

Dick dived back around the corner just in time to avoid the barrage of bullets. He was starting to pick up on what Babs had meant by the ‘other player’. Why were they killing prisoners? Were they behind the bombing? All good questions, but there was a time for answers and a time for ass-kicking, and Dick knew from experience that this was the latter.

In a well-practiced maneuver, Nightwing bounced one of his escrima sticks around the corner, off the floor, and into the face of an enemy. The satisfying crunch of a gunman’s nose breaking let Dick know that it had done its job. Moving quickly to take advantage of the confusion, he slid around the bend and started lobbing projectiles at the newcomers, making sure to dispense some gas pellets before taking cover again.

“I hate to be a bother, but things are a little on fire right now,” said Nightwing as he moved quickly through the smoke, trying to hide his position. “No visitors allowed.”

‘A little on fire’ was an understatement. Flames crackled in the distance, debris littered the building, and Dick’s gas pellets weren’t emitting the only smoke in the room. Bruce had poured quite a bit of money into financing the Arkham Asylum upgrades in 2019. He sure wasn’t going to be happy about paying the damages. Dick just hoped there’d still be prisoners left to hold once this night was over.

“Alright, I’ll level with you,” said Nightwing as he appeared behind one of the gunmen, snaking his arm under the man’s chin and choking the air from his lungs. “I saw that you guys were executing prisoners. You wanna tell me what that was all about?”

None of them offered an explanation. Four gunmen still remained in the room, stumbling through the smoke and trying to find their target. Nightwing kept out of sight, using his infrared filter in his mask to spot the enemies. Once the smoke began to dissipate, he threw three Birdarangs at the men on the far side of the room, knocking aside their weapons. The fourth whirled around, but Dick was already on him, shocking the man with the electrified ends of his escrima sticks. Hardly the kind of charge he’d used on Grundy, but it packed enough of a punch to send the gunman into dream-land.

Unlike the other Robins, Dick had been raised in a circus, high up on the trapeze. He possessed acrobatic prowess that none of his successors could match, and he made sure to use that here. When one of the now weaponless gunmen tried to charge at him, Nightwing leapt over the man and sent him careening into a row of medical equipment.

Pulling his grappling hook swiftly from his belt, Nightwing fired a cable at the nearest enemy, wrapping around the gunman’s weapon. With a tug, Dick pulled the gun towards himself, but the man held on. He was dragged through the air and towards Nightwing, who caught the enemy by the neck and slammed him into the ground, knocking him unconscious. 

_ One more _ , thought Dick. But before he could even turn around, he felt the cold metal of a gun against the back of his neck.

_ “Wrong move, hero,” _ said the last gunman in fluent Arabic. Was this one of Ra’s’ guys? The Black Wing prisoners were the obvious target, but the CIA should’ve been notified if any Shadows loyalists were rising again. 

Nightwing raised his hands in the air slowly. “Now, now… let’s all try to keep our heads for once, okay?”

Slowing his breathing, Dick mentally prepared himself to bust out with some acrobatic maneuvering, but it turned out he didn’t need to. The gun jerked, but instead of a hole in his immaculate face, Dick heard the enemy hit the ground. Nightwing relaxed. It turned out he’d had a guardian angel watching out for him.

“Well, now you’ve gone and done it,” said Jason as he tossed the gun onto a nearby gurney. “You fucked up stopping the  _ sick _ patients from escaping.”

“That wasn’t a patient, Hood,” said Dick as he bent down to retrieve his Birdarangs. Not all heroes could be billionaires, and he was on a budget.

Jason wiped soot off his helmet. “Yeah, I know. Figured that when I came down to the surgery ward and saw a group of assassins offing prisoners, which would be fine by me if they hadn’t made the mistake of trying to take me out next.”

“Your unrivaled compassion is the glue that holds this team together,” said Nightwing sarcastically as he turned to face his brother. “Is Batman down in the Black Wing?”

“Fuck if I know,” muttered Red Hood, shrugging. “I was on my way to check before I came down here to save you. I’ve been on the line with O, Catwoman, and Al -- can’t hold any of ‘em. It’s a mess out there. Last I heard, Bats and a few of the cops were trying to get down below the Penitentiary, but… the Black Wing was the source of the blast.”

“And Robin?” asked Dick.

Jason’s face darkened. “Canary got through to Oracle while I was talking with her. She and Huntress were almost back to the Clocktower when the explosion hit. The kid, though… he wasn’t with them.”

Dick glanced away. He didn’t wanna believe that anything had happened to Damian. Jason had been dead before Dick got to really know him, Tim and Stephanie were his peers, but Damian… well, that was his kid brother. They’d fought as Batman and Robin together for a good six months. If Damian was hurt or worse…

“Let’s keep moving,” said Nightwing flatly, brushing past Jason and moving back out into the prison.

Dick had already secured most of the Medical Facility, but there were still plenty of prisoners trying to make a beeline for the exits. With murderous assassins running wild, the vigilantes decided it was best to secure things as quickly as possible. Though Nightwing and Red Hood had both been trained by Batman as children, their fighting styles differed greatly. Still, they worked well together, and they worked efficiently… save for the fact that Jason had to constantly sidestep his enemies and reposition himself due to his broken hand, causing his fighting to slow somewhat.

After fifteen minutes of playing security guard, the two heroes had closed off every wing of the building. However, as they were jogging towards the exit, they spotted one last inmate trying to force himself through the doors.

“We’ve got a runner,” sighed Red Hood as he took aim with his handguns.

They needn’t have worried. Before the heroes could even reach the doors, the prisoner came flying back through them. Nightwing moved to try and brace the man’s fall, but something shot out and wrapped around the inmate, pulling him back. It was a golden lasso.

“You boys need a hand?” asked Donna Troy--aka the first Wonder Girl--as she flew across the room to greet them. It looked like help had arrived.

“If you’d be willing,” replied Dick, smiling. He and Donna had founded the Teen Titans together with the other first-generation sidekicks. Dick had plenty of friends in the superhero community, but she was the sister he’d never had.

“So, the League finally came calling, huh?” said Jason flatly, stepping over the captured prisoner and heading for the exit. “Well, chop-chop, we’ve got pieces of shit to save.”

“Nice to see you, too, Jason,” called Donna, rolling her eyes. She looked back at Dick. “Well, shall we?”

Dick bowed down and motioned towards the exit. “After you.”

The Justice League’s arrival meant the risk of prisoners escaping was lessened greatly, but it also meant there were fewer fires. Appropriately-named heroines Frost and Ice had got to work on cooling the blazes, while Firestorm transmuted the flames into a harmless mist. Nightwing couldn’t help but smile at the heroes’ presence as he and Donna walked across the cracked Arkham ground, stepping over the destruction. It was good to have friends.

Nightwing’s expression turned grim as he, Donna, and Jason approached the Penitentiary. More GCPD vehicles had made their way to the island, presumably by boat, and had set up a base of operations. The flames surrounding the building itself had been expunged, but the damage to the structure was still obvious. The blast had ripped through it, leaving nothing but destruction and death in its wake. Rows of bodies were being tucked away into the back of ambulances, both police officers and inmates. Some no doubt killed in the bombing, and others by the assassins.

Captain Maggie Sawyer was sitting on the front steps, waving away field medics as Batwoman--her wife, unbeknownst to her colleagues--talked with her in a hushed voice.

“Captain,” greeted Nightwing as they reached the building. “Is Batman down in the Black Wing?”

Maggie nodded. “They just cleared enough rubble from one of the elevator shafts. We’re still waiting to hear back, but… well, look at this place. Ra’s is long gone. Those bastards played us.”

Nightwing tried to smile. “Let’s hope you’re wrong there.”

He knew she wasn’t.

The scene inside the building was no better than outside. Half the building seemed to have caved in, and police officers and firefighters were trying desperately to clear pieces of the wreckage while keeping the structure standing. Prisoners had been forced up against the walls, many of the cells collapsed. There was a clear path towards the nearest Black Wing elevator shaft, and Dick, Jason, and Donna began to make their way toward it. 

A couple of firefighters were standing at the entrance, and they glanced at each other as the heroes neared.

“Mind if we pop down there for a few minutes?” asked Jason casually, taking out his grappling hook and nodding to the hole where an elevator might have once been. 

“The whole place is unbalanced,” said one of the firefighters, coughing from the smoke. He glanced at Donna. “If it’s all the same to you, Ambassador, it may be best if you stay up here. An Amazon could send the whole place crashing down again.”

“Of course, Officer,” said Donna. “And please, I’m not here as an ambassador today. I’m just here to help.”

Dick shook his head. Sometimes it was hard to remember that the girl he’d once fought supervillains with was now the United Nations ambassador for Themysicra, the nation of the Amazons. How times had changed.

“Well, spandex here shouldn’t be too heavy,” said Red Hood, tapping Nightwing as they moved towards the hole.

Hooking their grappling lines into the cracked roof of the elevator shaft, the two heroes kicked off and began to descend into the abyss. As they dropped down, Nightwing saw layers of charred cables, broken weapons, and other fragments of security measures that had all failed. Three years of peace, and now it had all gone to hell. It seemed that the whole city really did fall apart when Batman tried to get married.

The Dark Knight was standing in the dimly-lit corridor as his sons reached the ground. Dick saw that the reinforced casing of the wing had held off some of the blast, but much of it was still destroyed. He walked around the charred prison, stepping over rubble and trying to make out where the cells had been. Whoever was behind this had been clever. The destruction hid many of the answers, but one fact was still evident: there had been ten occupied cells, and there were only eight bodies.

Jason had been wandering around to the other chambers. “Can't make out all the bodies, but Malcolm Merlyn, Sensei, Nyssa al Ghul… they’re all roadkill. Seems like our new player only wanted Talia--”

“and Ra’s,” finished Bruce.

Nightwing bent down to stick his hand in the rubble where the Demon’s Head’s cell had been. His fingers came away with a dark, red substance on them. Fire didn’t erase blood.

“Oracle, can you trace this?” asked Dick, holding the sample up to the lens of his mask. “Oracle?”

“No connection down here,” said Bruce, walking away from the cell and looking for something in the blackened wall. “Likely some kind of EMP device. It’s why we didn’t hear about the break-in until it was too late.”

“Deathstroke,” offered Jason.

“He likely smuggled it in.” Bruce glanced back at Dick. “I already had a sample with me. Make no mistake, that’s Ra’s’ blood.”

Nightwing shook the blood off his glove. “Maybe these guys weren’t working for Ra’s.”

“They certainly wanted his knowledge. Those Lazarus Pit books at Cluemaster’s hideout; they wanted a location,” said Red Hood.

Batman was cutting at the wall now, clearing rocks and trying to lift a particularly heavy stone that blocked his path. Nightwing swooped in to help him. Together, they moved it out of the way, exposing a hole. It wasn’t just an escape tunnel, it opened right up into the Arkham Batcave.

“I did this,” said Batman slowly. “I’ve been… distracted. I didn’t see what was right in front of me.”

Nightwing stared into the cave. They’d built this to have direct access to the Black Wing, to add extra security, but… was it the thing that had doomed them?”

“You didn’t do this,” said Red Hood, with an odd hint of compassion in his voice. “Whoever’s behind this knew what they were doing. They got in and they covered their tracks. Even bypassed the lockdown security codes… might want to give the mayor a call about that.”

One by one, the three caped crusaders trickled through the entrance and into the cave. The villains had definitely been through here, but their presence was hard to pick up on with all the debris. Though the cave hadn't been nearly as damaged as Ra's' cell, it was still right by the source of the blast. Luckily, through all the destruction, one thing had clearly survived: the Batcomputer. There was a blinking red light on the keyboard.

“Looks like someone left us a message,” said Dick quietly.

After scanning the computer for signs of a trap with his cowl, Bruce stepped forward and pressed a button. An image appeared on the screen. It was a dark room with a long table in the center. Seven figures sat at the table, all draped in shadow. The man at the head of the table began to speak, and Dick recognized his voice as the ‘Owlman’ he and Jason had fought earlier.

“For twenty-three years,” began Owlman, “you, Batman--  _ Bruce _ , have watched over Gotham City. And for twenty-three years, criminals have continued to thrive off the suffering of others. You swore to dedicate your life to warring on these criminals, to purge the filth from your city. You have failed.”

The figures in the room began to become clearer as light flooded into the room. David Cain, Deathstroke, Cluemaster, Bane, and… was that Doctor Hurt? One silhouette was still left obscured.

“We are faces from your past,” continued Owlman. “Faces you have never laid eyes on. All we have for you is one final message.”

The last figure leaned into view. It was a woman, armored in grey with a skull mask and a scythe. She resembled the grim reaper. Removing her mask revealed auburn hair and cold eyes. It was the Phantasm. It was--

“Andrea…” whispered Bruce. He was taken aback. None of them had expected… her.

She began to speak. “One week from today, Gotham City will be saved. The era of the Batman shall end and a new age will be born from the ashes. You cannot stop it. We have already won.”

Then the message ended. The screen darkened, leaving the three heroes in stunned silence. Batman pulled a flash drive out of his utility belt, inserted it into the computer, and copied the video file. He made sure to lock down the Batcomputer. 

Their faceless enemy had finally shown themselves. 

Red Hood quickly discovered that the villains had bypassed their way into the cave by digging a passage from the island’s surface. They followed the passageway up and into the cool night air, leaving the police to wonder about the mysterious base below. Other members of their team had gathered near the Penitentiary, with Cardinal, Spoiler, and Mockingbird talking with Donna and several other Justice Leaguers in hushed tones.

As soon as Cardinal saw the fellow vigilantes approaching, he ran over to meet them. “We’ve got trouble. Bane’s a part of this, too. He was leading the assassins that were taking out inmates. We don’t know if he was working alone or--”

“He wasn’t,” said Batman. He held up the drive. “We just obtained a message left for us by the people behind all this. A group of criminals, led by Phantasm.”

Tim was clearly confused. “Phantasm?” He’d studied every case file from Bruce’s history, though he was clearly surprised to hear that name. “Isn’t she dead?”

Batman’s expression was cold. “No. She’s alive… and she wants vengeance.”

Nightwing turned to Donna. “If Bane was here, can’t we track him? Or Deathstroke for that matter?”

“We’ve got people looking on all fronts, but there’s no sign of them yet,” said Donna, frowning.

“There’s more bad news,” chimed in Spoiler as she joined the circle. “We just got word from Oracle. The assassins retrieved Cluemaster while we were racing to Arkham. Batwing and Flamebird couldn’t stop them.”

“Well, shit,” said Red Hood plainly. “Looks like we’re pulling out tons of victories tonight.”

His expression grim, Batman turned to Batwoman and Maggie Sawyer as they walked up, the latter clutching an icepack to her forehead, still battered from the explosion.

“Captain Sawyer, do you have any idea where Robin might’ve gone?” asked Bruce gruffly. “We… can’t seem to find him.”

She shook her head. “No, but we’re still finding people every minute. With the League here, he’ll turn up in no time--”

_ “Batman!”  _ shouted Babs suddenly over the comms, causing everyone to stop talking abruptly.  _ “We found Damian!” _

Bruce was already moving. “Where?” he commanded as turned slowly, eying the different sections of the island.

_ “He’s not on the island.” _

Dick blinked. “So where is he?”

_ “Leslie just called. He was taken to Elliot Memorial Hospital.” _

“Well, how the hell did he end up there?” asked Dick, confused.

_ “Bruce--,”  _ said Barbara sharply, cutting her husband off. She never used Batman’s real name in the field, even over comm lines.  _ “It’s bad.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes the first act of our story, dear readers! Over eighty thousand words in and we’ve still got lots of ground to cover, so stay tuned. Next week, we’ll be checking back in with the all-knowing Oracle as she briefs our team on everything that’s happened over the past eighteen chapters, and how they need to tackle this unprecedented villain team-up. If you’ve enjoyed my tale thus far, leave a comment! I’d love to know what I could do to make the rest of the story a(n even) better read. I’ll catch you next week; same bat time, same bat channel.


	19. Mission Report

> **Kane County, NJ  
>  Saturday, June 18th, 2022, 09:10 EDT**

“Here’s what we know,” said Barbara, resting her coffee in her lap as she pulled files onto the screen with her mouse. 

Gathered around the Batcave were Dick, Tim, Steph, Cass, Jason, Harper, and Alfred, waiting for the mission report. They were all tired; there hadn’t been much sleep last night. Bruce and Selina were with Damian at Elliot Memorial. He’d been hurt bad, and they all wanted answers.

“Last Tuesday,” began Babs, “Cardinal, Spoiler, Mockingbird, and Bluebird intercepted Deathstroke at the Tricorner Yards. We’d been tipped off that the Penguin had been paid to smuggle him in, and our intel proved true. Slade slipped our grasp then but was caught by Batman the next night, where he was transferred into GCPD custody while a Black Wing cell was prepped. At both these scenes, we found the calling cards of Cluemaster. On Thursday, Cardinal and Spoiler were sent to take him in.”

“And we would have taken down my dad if Cass’ dad hadn’t taken  _ us _ down first,” explained Steph, who–still clad in her purple costume–was digging into a plate of waffles.

Babs nodded as she cycled through the images with her clicker. “Cain intercepted them and sent them off with Cluemaster, who broadcast their capture live around Gotham, threatening a deadly game show the next night. Nightwing and Red Hood stumbled upon one of Brown’s old hideouts during the day, leading to the discovery of a mysterious costumed villain calling himself Owlman. We theorize that this may be connected to the fabled Court of Owls, but the search is still ongoing.” Barbara adjusted her glasses as she pulled up footage of the Arkham ruins. “We rescued Cardinal and Spoiler from Cluemaster but were too late to stop his bomb, which destroyed the Black Wing. Before that, however, Deathstroke escaped custody and freed Ra’s al Ghul via the satellite Batcave on the island. After that, assassins led by the villains went around executing inmates, calling their true goals into question. In the end, we were completely played: left with zero prisoners to speak of and unsure of our enemies’ true intentions. All we have to go off of… is this video.”

The image of the seven villains filled the Batcave monitors, casting a shadow over the assembled heroes.

“So,” said Dick quietly, “these are our guys.”

“Yeah,” replied Babs, sighing. She looked back at the screen, selecting the first Network file and highlighting it. “Deathstroke, also known as ‘the Terminator’. Slade Wilson fought in the Vietnam War, where he proved to be a proficient killer. The war ended and the troops came home, but Slade never left the battlefield. He kept up with military jobs, even engaging with private contractors. This led Slade to partake in an experiment that activated his metagene, greatly enhancing his strength, speed, agility, endurance, healing–the works. After his wife shot his eye out, Mr. Wilson left the family life behind and became a full-time assassin. He’s worked with the League of Shadows, H.I.V.E., and various other unsavory terrorist organizations. And that’s not mentioning the  _ thousands _ of hits he’s racked up over the years, in between long-term jobs. Slade’s run afoul of us, the Teen Titans, Green Arrow, and countless others. He’s taken out an entire Justice League squad by himself before. Good ones. Deathstroke is one of the most dangerous men alive, and not exactly the guy you want coming after you and your city.”

“Great start,” muttered Jason as he cracked a beer open at nine in the morning.

“Next up is Cluemaster,” said Barbara, ignoring Jason, as she often did. “Arthur Brown, former game show host and the father of Stephanie Brown.” At that, there was some mock cheering from Tim and Harper. “After struggling to get his show  _ Think, Thank, Thunk! _ off the ground, Arthur was sad to see the series canceled during its first season in 2013. With his future in the entertainment industry compromised, he became the supervillain known as Cluemaster. Already having done work for Riddler in the past… well, Arthur pretty much stole his whole thing. Steph suited up as Spoiler to take him down with the help of Tim, and he’s pretty much hated us ever since. He was eventually able to deduce the true identities of both Spoiler and Robin–a mantle then held by Tim–and by extension solve the Batman mystery as well. Cluemaster is no Deathstroke in terms of the threat he poses, but make no mistake, he is still very much a threat. An accomplished criminal and a killer, Arthur Brown is armed with the knowledge to take us all out if he so chooses.” 

Dick yawned. “Luckily, all seven of these villains know our true identities, so we don’t even have to sweat it with Cluemaster.”

Barbara held up the clicker again, scrolling over to the next deadly assassin. “David Cain. He’s every bit as dangerous as Deathstroke with the unyielding motivation of a terrorist cause. Cain has tormented our band for decades. He trained Bruce during his abroad travels, only to stand right alongside Bane during the Cataclysm. The depth of Cain’s cruelty is rarely matched. The current leader of the League of Shadows is Lady Shiva, also known as Sandra Wu-San, also known as Cass’ mother. When Sandra was a young woman, she and her sister Carolyn would spar in martial arts tournaments together. Cain would observe the sisters from time to time. One day, he decided that Sandra was the better fighter, but was holding back out of love for her older sister. To alleviate this problem, Cain brutally murdered Carolyn and left her body for the sister to discover. Sandra went looking for revenge but failed to take Cain out. He promised mercy, which meant beating her near death, raping her, keeping her prisoner for nine months until the resulting child was born, and  _ then _ letting her go. That was mercy. Look no further than the way he raised his daughter to know the true bounds of his… evil,” finished Babs darkly as she looked Cass in the eye. “We have to assume that the breakout of Ra’s ties this whole affair to the League of Shadows. Killing prisoners fits their modus operandi as well. Cain has to be leading this charge. He evaded our capture for three years while his superiors wasted away in prison. If he’s back now, it’s because he’s ready to win.”

Cass was squeezing Harper’s hand as she began to speak. “My father is full of hate. If we don’t stop him… and these others… it will consume Gotham.”

Steph smiled. “In twenty-three years, our city has only been overtaken by terrorists and assassins once. I’ll be damned if we lose that hot streak.”

“Speaking of terrorists who have captured Gotham City,” began Babs, pausing only to take a sip of her coffee, “next on the list is Bane. The son of a Santa Priscan warlord who was run off the island during a coup, Bane was a three-month-old fetus when his mother was sent to  Peña Duro to serve his father’s crimes. Consider Peña Duro the demented love child of a Russian gulag and a North Korean concentration camp, located off the coast of Santa Prisca; the worst prison in the world. Bane was born there, allowed no other name than that. The mother was able to bribe the guards for a few years with money she had hidden away, but when Bane was six, her funds ran out and she was thrown into general population. She was dead in an hour, but Bane wasn’t so fortunate. The guards grabbed the child and dragged him to the top of the prison, where he got to watch his mother’s corpse being fed to the sharks. Then they threw him in one of the holes to die. The holes were jagged cells cut into the bottom of the prison. When the tide came in, it filled the pits and the prisoners would almost drown. Many died, but Bane survived. He spent years in that cell, growing stronger… and growing vengeful. Eventually, he got out of that cell and worked his way up the ranks of the prison hierarchy. Tales of his brutality reached members of the Shadows. One of their scientists hand-picked Bane for an experiment involving the Lazarus Pit chemicals themselves, translated into a super steroid called Venom. This is what provided Bane with his enhanced strength for so many years. Anyway, our man went on to become Ra’s al Ghul’s personal bodyguard and a key member of the Shadows, eventually being tasked with ‘breaking the Batman’ and taking Gotham City. His men caused an artificial earthquake, blew up the bridges, freed prisoners from Arkham and Blackgate, crippled the GCPD, and made living in Gotham City hell for every civilian.” Barbara sighed, remembering the horror of that year. “We all remember the Cataclysm, just as we all know about Bane’s twisted ways. He broke Batman’s back, he’s killed our loved ones, and he’s crippled our city. Given the chance, he’ll do it again.

“Oh, and that scientist I mentioned? His name is Simon Hurt, and his time with the Bat-clan goes back a long time.” Babs queued up the fifth image, displaying the doctor in shadow. They didn’t have a clearer picture. “Dr. Hurt is something of an enigma. There are plenty of theories. Immortal demigod, vampire, plain old mad scientist… it all boils down to a legitimately evil monster who doesn’t seem to age. He’s studied Batman and his legacy since the beginning, fighting against us plenty of times over the years, in various forms. Hurt literally dissects his enemies. He plays with torture and dark magic. All in all, not the ideal doctor. His–”

“As someone who’s been on the receiving end of the good doctor’s treatment,” interrupted Jason, “I can confirm that he’s the deadliest one on here–at least of the ones we know about. Hurt has a fascination with us superheroes. His mission is to pick us apart– to find our emotional centers and deconstruct us. Hurt was the one who led my… ‘breaking’ after my resurrection. If these bad guys want to tear us down, he’d be the one to do it. He’s always claiming to be ‘the hole in things’. He’ll break us down to the core, and then he’ll destroy us.”

Nodding, Babs looked back at the screen. “As for someone we don’t have a depressing history with, this is the villain Nightwing and Red Hood encountered in the sewers below Cluemaster’s hideout. Calling himself ‘Owlman,’ he’s displayed impressive fighting skills and equally impressive resources. He may bear a connection to the fabled Court of Owls, though again, we have yet to find any evidence for that. And of course, he seems to have some… intimate connection to our group as well.”

Alfred had been nodding along to the report, deep in thought, but now he looked up. “And that would bring us to Ms. Beaumont, would it not?”

“Andrea Beaumont,” confirmed Barbara as she displayed the last file onscreen. “You may be the best equipped to talk about her, Alfred. You’ve been here since the beginning, too.”

Smiling sadly, Alfred leaned against the railing and looked off into the shadows of the cave. “I was overjoyed to have Bruce back after all his years abroad, but I was… devastated… to discover that his overseas adventures had not given him any of the happiness I’d hoped for him. He hadn’t quite figured out his vigilante persona yet, but he had only returned to exact his vengeance on Gotham City’s criminal underbelly. One week after his return, we hosted an impromptu gala at the manor; every prestigious member of the city’s elite came out to see the prodigal son’s return for themselves. Of course, Bruce had motives beyond selling Wayne Enterprises stocks and making headlines. Bruce was hoping to draw out the head of Gotham’s lead organized crime family, Carmine Falcone, a member of the Cosa Nostra. He succeeded. Though that gala did not give Bruce the information he desired, it did lead to one thing: the meeting between Bruce Wayne and Andrea Beaumont. There was a spark there I have only seen again in Ms. Kyle. Andrea challenged Bruce, challenged the path of misery he’d chosen for himself. She helped him enjoy life for the first time since… well, since that night in the alley. Andrea reignited his love for Gotham; it wasn’t just a city that needed saving, but a city that  _ deserved _ saving. She made Bruce happy. For a young man who had been so alone for so many years, that was truly heartening to see. In six weeks, Bruce was already preparing to propose. He’d fallen in love not just with her, but with the notion that he could find happiness again. That he needn’t live a life of misery. Alas, Andrea’s father owed money to one of Gotham’s old mob kingpins: Sal Valestra. The eve after Bruce’s proposal, the Beaumonts fleed the country. In a depressed state, he went out on the streets of Gotham, looking to fight injustice. His happiness gone, he was left with the misery of his endless mission.” Alfred looked sad now. “That night, a bat crashed through the window. Near-death, he was inspired, and the Batman was born.”

Barbara looked down. “Ten years later, Andrea returned to Gotham. Around the same time, a vigilante called the Phantasm began killing criminals connected to Salestra. Bruce thought it was her father, but… it came down to a battle between Batman, Phantasm, and the Joker. Of course, Bruce was able to save his enemy from the burning amusement park, but we thought Andrea was gone. Until now… and, well, that’s that.”

“And that’s that,” agreed Alfred.

The mission report concluded, the group began to move around and talk amongst themselves. Babs set down her coffee mug, then rolled her chair closer to the computer. Dick walked up next to her.

“So,” he said, sitting down in Bruce’s usual chair, “seems like we’re up against some fun odds.”

Babs frowned. “We’ve faced worse, but… this time they’ve all rallied. This is the big one. With the wedding right around the corner, it kinda feels like the final mission. I’m just… I’m not even sure where we can begin.”

Dick squeezed her hand. “Y’know, we’ve been through some tough times–all of us have. But you’ve always had this ability so sit back and see the big picture. That confidence has seen us all through some tough times. Use it. Once we can all take a step back and see what needs doing, we’ll beat ‘em.”

“You’re right,” sighed Babs. He always was. “It’s all so overwhelming; it’s happening so fast and at the worst of times. It’s just… they’ve never pulled together like this before.”

“Seems like our own troops could do with some rallying,” said Dick, nodding at the darkened faces of their teammates, “and seeing as you’ve had significantly more coffee than me this morning, I think it may be up to you.”

Groaning, Babs looked out at the family’s faces. Dick was right, they all needed to pull together.

“Listen up,” called Babs, causing the quiet conversations to stop. Everyone looked to her. She closed her eyes, taking a slow breath before continuing. “Every single person in this room has faced one of these guys at least once. For some of you, maybe even the majority. But none of us have ever faced these villains united. These are the top dogs, the biggest guns. People with immense power, ability, and influence who know our most intimate secrets. That could hit all of us, any time, whenever they want. And what they want is to cripple our city. To tear down the legacy that Bruce– that we’ve  _ all  _ built. That cannot happen. Not now. Not when we’re at our strongest. These bad guys stand a chance at really beating us because they stand together. The only way we win is by doing the same.”

No one responded immediately. Some half-smiled and others looked down at their feet. Of course they’d fight this fight together, but the threat was still so immense. They were all processing.

“I turned eighty-three years old this year,” said Alfred suddenly. “I’ve spent more than half my life with the Wayne family–with Bruce. He lost his innocence that night, all those years ago. I didn’t think he’d be happy again, but I hoped that he’d find peace. When he left the city to travel the world, he was fourteen, but… he was older than that, truly. I half-hoped he’d never come back. That he’d find love over there. So during those years, I lived alone in the manor, watching over my friend Thomas’ ancestral home and hoping that I’d done right by his son. But Bruce came back, intent on waging his war, and I knew I’d failed. The brief moment of relief I felt with Andrea turned bleak, and Gotham gained its dark avenger.” Alfred was silent for a moment, but then he smiled and looked up at everyone. “But over the past two decades, I’ve had the pleasure of watching Bruce find that family he lost all those years ago. Though Batman may still wallow in his misery from time to time, I know the truth: that he’s made stronger by all of you. A week from now, we will all sit around celebrating the wedding, costumes aside. I know that we can beat this threat hanging over us,” said Alfred, gesturing to the screen, “because we’ll do it together. Because  _ you’ll _ do it together. It’s not just Bruce’s mission anymore; it’s everyone’s. We can save this city.”

Dick put a hand on Alfred’s shoulder. “We’ve done it before–”

“And we’ll do it again,” finished Babs, smiling. She looked at her husband and he matched her expression. Alfred had given a damn good pep talk; no one could’ve said it better.

Suddenly, they were interrupted by the sound of an incoming call on the Batcomputer. It was Bruce.

_ “Secure line,”  _ called Bruce’s voice over the speaker. Looked like he was calling from his cellphone; he must still be in the hospital. 

Barbara quickly turned to the keyboard and encrypted the call with a few simple commands, making sure that no unsavory sorts were listening in. “Batman,” she replied, surprised to be hearing from him. “How’s Robin?”

_ “I know how to find Andrea,” _ Bruce replied, ignoring her question.

“How’s that?” asked Babs, racing her fingers across the keyboard. She’d hacked into the Elliot Memorial medical database earlier, but Damian’s report hadn’t been uploaded yet. Now it was. 

Dick leaned over her shoulder as she scrolled through. Damian had suffered major internal damage, but no permanent injuries to his vital organs.

_ “We missed something,” _ continued Batman. _ “Nightwing and Cardinal can report back to Arkham Island; I’ll meet you. And there’s more. I’ll need everyone.” _

Babs glanced behind her. The whole family had gathered around to view the medical report, and were now listening to the call. Tim was already reaching for his costume.

“Don’t worry,” said Babs. “We’re ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to take the fight back to the villains! As we head into the major action of our story, I wanted to take a breath and give a better introduction to the threats our heroes are headed up against, and what’ll take for the Batfamily to succeed. Next chapter, we’ll return to Bruce’s head again so we flashback to the origins of his and Andrea’s relationship, as well as see how Damian’s injury is affecting him and Selina. Comments are always appreciated on these chapters, so I can better enhance the story’s quality moving forward. There’s lots more coming down the road, so stay tuned! We’ll be back next week; same bat time, same bat channel.


	20. Andrea

> **Kane County, NJ  
>  Friday, January 15th, 1999, 19:39 EST**

_ “The twenty-five-year-old heir to the Wayne fortune declined to comment on rumors of romance in his life, or his plans now that he’s returned to Gotham after nearly twelve years abroad. We’ll keep you posted on Gotham’s richest--and best looking--native son. Tom?” _

_ “Thank you, Jackie. Following the disappearance of a key witness, District Attorney Harvey Dent has withdrawn conspiracy charges against Carmine Falcone, a wealthy Gothamite who has long been suspected of having connections to the Sicilian mafi--” _

The television clicked off without warning, but the reflection in the darkening screen revealed Alfred as the culprit. Bruce turned back to glare at his faithful butler, but the aging man merely crossed his arms and glared right back.

“Your party started almost an hour ago, Master Bruce,” chided Alfred.

“Better to keep them in suspense,” replied Bruce flatly, focusing his attention back on the shutoff television. “Besides, being fashionably late to social events is a key part of the plan.”

Alfred sighed. “Yes, but it is your  _ own _ event, sir. You’re expected to be a proper host. In any case, Gotham City has been awaiting your return for over a decade. I think that’s long enough.”

Bruce stood up from the couch, rolling his shoulders and mentally preparing himself for the tough night ahead. He attempted to stroll on right by Alfred, but the man stopped him so he could fix Bruce’s tie.

“You bloody well ought to learn how to tie a tie by now,” said Alfred exasperatedly. “Properly, I mean. A decade of training with famed ninjas and detectives and other unsavory sorts, and yet this still looks like rubbish.”

“Is  _ he _ here?” asked Bruce, choosing to ignore Alfred’s latest bout of snark.

“No,” said the butler shortly. “If Mr. Falcone is coming tonight, he’s elected to be even more ‘fashionably late’ than you. Perhaps you should look forward to speaking with the people who  _ aren’t _ mob kingpins, sir. There are several investors here tonight looking to pledge their support for Wayne Enterprises with you soon to take up the reins, should Bruce Wayne inspire confidence.”

“Is Phillip here?”

“Your uncle is out of the city on business, I’m afraid,” said Alfred. “But the DA is here, too. You and Mr. Dent haven’t spoken since you left Gotham, correct? Dr. Elliot, as well. You should be catching up with these old friends, you know.”

“You’re right,” Bruce admitted, if only to appease Alfred. 

Truly, the only reason he was hosting a gathering tonight was so that he could speak with Carmine Falcone. The rumors that had circulated for years were true, of course. Falcone was the undisputed leader of organized crime in Gotham and a member of the Cosa Nostra, called ‘the Roman’. Taking him down was the key to toppling corruption in the city. It all started tonight. The plan Bruce had been formulating for well over a decade. He’d made a vow on the graves of his parents, that he’d dedicate his life to warring on all criminals. Tonight was the beginning of Bruce living up to that promise. 

“Please, sir,” said Alfred, locking eyes with Bruce. “Go out there. And for Christ’s sake, try not to look so goddamn miserable.”

Bruce nodded, slipping out of his surrogate father’s grasp and walking out of the viewing room. As he strolled down the hall, the sound of the people outside grew louder. Bruce stopped short in front of the double doors. The buzz of the guests in the ballroom penetrated right through the centuries-old oak. Bruce breathed in deeply, allowing his mental mask to pass over his face. And just like that, he was smiling. He was Gotham’s billionaire playboy philanthropist. The prodigal son, finally come home.

Pushing the heavy doors open, Bruce stepped out into the lion’s den, waving as the nearest socialites caught sight of him. The chattering turned to excited whispers as he strode through the crowd, smiling at his guests as people began to approach him.

“–Bruce! It’s so good to see you–”

“–got to be twice as tall as the last time I saw you–”

“--haven’t met, but--”

“–finally come home–”

“–Bruuuuuucieee–”

“–here! Mr. Wayne, over here–”

The voices swirled around him as Bruce tried to make eye contact with them all. It was one greeting after another as he thanked his guests for coming. Many had known his parents and others were simply high-ranking members of Gotham’s social elite. All of them were curious to see what kind of impression Bruce would leave, and he knew exactly what kind of expectations to set.

“Hi,” Bruce said to one guest, shaking their hand. “Thanks for coming,” he said to another.

Handshake after handshake, perfect smile after perfect smile. Men and women Bruce had never met or barely recognized, wearing outfits that must have cost thousands of dollars. He hadn’t come back to Gotham for this pageantry, but it had to be done. Bruce had been back in Gotham for eleven days, but despite a brief interview when he got off the plane, no one had heard from him. If he was to do the work he’d come home to do–from the shadows, as intended–then Bruce Wayne needed to be seen in the light.

After a good ten minutes of introductions, Bruce had made his way to the back of the ballroom, and he started scanning for Harvey or Tommy. Alfred was right, he really needed to connect with his old friends. But there was no sign of them or Falcone, so the greetings continued on. 

The next man to approach Bruce was someone he didn’t recognize. He was broad-shouldered and carried himself with confidence, though there was an air of hesitation about him.

“Mr. Wayne,” greeted the man with a firm handshake. “We haven’t met yet. Terrence Beaumont, financial advisor. I must say, you have a lovely home.”

“Good to meet you,” replied Bruce, forcing his smile. “It’s– well, it was my father’s house.” 

An obvious fact, to be sure, but he meant it. The manor had never felt like home to Bruce. Not since they died. The house, the cars, the money–all of it was just a mask for him.

“Yes, I know,” chuckled Terrence. “An ancestral home for one of Gotham’s oldest legacies. You’ve heard it before, I’m sure, but your family’s blood runs through the veins of this city. The Waynes built Gotham, and these past few years just haven’t been right without one here.”

“I appreciate you saying that, Terrence,” said Bruce, preparing to excuse himself.

“Well, I know you’ll finally be taking charge at Wayne Enterprises,” said Beaumont quickly. The man scratched his neck, looking somewhat apprehensive. “I just wanted to extend a hand of friendship in case you needed help with the transition, you having ‘big plans’ and all.”

Bruce smiled. “Thank you for the offer. I’ll make sure to keep it in mind,” he lied.

“Sure, sure. And, hey, just so you know I’m not blowing smoke, I’ve done some recent work in that field. Hell, just last year, I helped Ace Chemicals…”

Bruce tried as hard as he could to stay focused on Beaumont’s words, but as his mind drifted elsewhere, so did his eyes. While most of the crowd tonight were on the older side, there were younger socialites, too. There was a woman standing near the bar about ten feet back, trying to look inconspicuous. She had red hair. Bruce couldn’t help but focus his attention on her. The woman was stirring her martini slowly, the thin straw clutched between nails that had been painted a dark red. Her icy, blue eyes were hazy, focused somewhere far away. 

Beaumont saw that Bruce’s gaze had shifted and turned to find the source of the distraction. “Ah,” he chuckled. “I see you’ve spotted my daughter.”

_ Damn it. _ Bruce hurriedly locked his eyes back on Beaumont, but he was already waving the woman over.

“Andrea, honey. Come meet our host.”

The woman shifted her gaze, and then her eyes met Bruce’s. He smiled. She took one last sip of her drink before abandoning it at the bar and walking over to join her father.

“Bruce Wayne,” he greeted, extending a hand.

“I know,” she replied, taking it. “Andrea Beaumont.”

“A pleasure,” said Bruce honestly.

“Andrea just graduated Gotham U last spring,” said Terrence, placing a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “She’s a Gotham girl, born and bred. You know, dear, I was just telling Mr. Wayne–”

“Please, it’s Bruce.”

Terrence nodded. “I was just telling  _ Bruce  _ about my work with the Ace Chemicals board last year. Would you believe that Andrea was instrumental in that happening?”

“Oh, I’m sure you would’ve solved it without me,” she said with a laugh.

“Nonsense. My daughter’s got a great head for numbers.” Terrence glanced at something over Bruce’s shoulder, suddenly stepping away. “Y’know, I think I just spotted some old friends, but you two should talk. Andrea might even be able to teach you a thing or two, Bruce. Thanks again.”

After one last handshake, Terrence walked away, waving as he did. “Bob! Regina! How’ve you two been holding up?”

They were alone.

Andrea smirked as she looked Bruce up and down. “I think Daddy wants me to seduce you into going into business with him.”

“Is that right?” asked Bruce, not sure how to respond to that.

“So, I’ve got a question for you.”

He shrugged. “Shoot.”

“Why throw a party if all you wanna do is be somewhere else?” asked Andrea blatantly.

Bruce blinked. “I’m not sure what you–”

“You don’t fool me, you know.” She leaned in close, almost whispering. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. You’ve got the mannerisms down, what with the winning smile and charming gestures. I’m sure everyone here sees the happy playboy, but I just see someone who’s totally dead inside.”

“Excuse me?” he asked, caught off guard. Bruce hadn’t been prepared for this particular line of questioning.

Andrea began walking back towards the bar, continuing to talk as she did. “Seems like you spent a lot of time in Europe. Why’d you come back to Gotham?”

Bruce hurried to keep up with her. “I was studying. I–uh–needed time away from the city.”

“Uh-huh.”

Reaching the bar, Andrea retrieved her drink and turned to face Bruce again, eyeing him curiously. He was having trouble taking his eyes off her, too.

“Gotham is my home,” said Bruce cooly, beginning to tire of this game. “I’ve come back because I want to help this city.”

“Well, that’s very noble of you,” replied Andrea, sipping her drink, “but not particularly interesting. Shame. I was wondering about you.” She looked away. “Well, I better leave you to the rest of your guests. I’m sure they all want a piece of you. I guess I’ll be seeing you around, Bruce. Don’t forget to smile.”

With that, Andrea wandered off, leaving Bruce alone with his other hundred guests, none of whom he was as interested in talking to. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Tonight needed to go exactly as planned, but he was letting the illusion–his mask–shatter. Hopefully, no one could tell.

“You look like you could use a drink.”

Bruce turned at the sound of his old friend’s voice and gave his first genuine smile of the night when he got sight of Harvey Dent. The two of them embraced in a slightly awkward hug. They hadn’t seen each other since ‘87.

“I certainly won’t say no to that,” laughed Bruce as he signaled over Alfred, who was hovering nearby, pretending not to eavesdrop on the reunion.

There were several other waiters walking around, but Alfred was the one with Bruce’s beverage of choice. The faithful butler appeared next to the two men, holding out a tray with two glasses of champagne. At least, that’s what it looked like to the unassuming eye, but Bruce’s glass was actually filled with watered-down ginger ale. He had never really gained a taste for alcohol during his travels. Better to remain alert, anyway, while still keeping up appearances.

“Alfred!” greeted Harvey joyously as he shook the formal man’s hand. “It’s been too long.”

“Likewise, sir,” said Alfred, smiling. “It’s good to finally see you two together again.”

Harvey chuckled. “Yeah. Man… times have changed, huh?”

“They sure have,” said Bruce, thinking back to his last days in Gotham.

After the deaths of his parents at the hands of petty thief Joe Chill, Bruce hadn’t been able to cope. Even after more than a year had passed, his life was still filled by the crippling darkness of that alley. The feeling of loneliness when the gun fired twice and the life faded from Thomas and Martha Wayne. Eventually, Bruce tried to take his own life, but Alfred and Leslie saved him. For a few weeks, he spent time in a private psychiatric facility, away from prying eyes. Harvey had been Bruce’s roommate. They weren’t supposed to know each other’s real names, but the two of them told each other anyway and became fast friends. Harvey had been stuck there for lashing out at his father and running away. But Harv wasn’t sick and he hadn’t attacked his old man in cold blood; he’d been fighting back. Christopher Dent had a lot of anger in him and chose to deal with it by taking it out on his son. It was Harvey who had given Bruce purpose over the next five years; he shared with Bruce his hunger for vengeance. They pledged to kill the perpetrators of their sorrow: Christopher Dent and Joe Chill. And by the time Bruce had left Gotham… both men were dead.

“I’ll be honest,” said Harvey. “When I heard you were coming back to Gotham, I almost didn’t believe it. Figured you’d be smart enough to stay clear of this hellhole.”

Bruce chuckled. “That would certainly be easier, but… I never meant to leave Gotham forever. I just needed time away. I needed to gain a better understanding of the world to gain a better understanding of the city. To understand what it needs.”

Harvey raised an eyebrow. “So the boy billionaire has come back home to save his city? I’m sure the Gazette will eat that one up.”

“Well, I gotta live up to that Wayne legacy somehow.”

Harvey smiled at that, then looked over both his shoulders, as if to make sure they weren’t being overheard.

“You know, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again after I gave you that gun,” Harv said quietly. He glanced down, almost looking sad. “But to hear you got Chill, well… I hope that brought you some peace.”

Bruce frowned. Harvey had eventually managed to take care of his father when Christopher turned the violence on his wife. They had called it self-defense, but… well, it still hadn’t erased the damage done to Harvey. Bruce had done his homework on everyone before coming home, even his old friends. He knew that Harvey had been quietly diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder, a lasting effect of his past trauma. But back then, it had seemed like a victory, and Harvey had pledged himself to helping Bruce get his vengeance, too. After five years of trying to unravel any mystery surrounding his parents’ murder and the identity of their killer, fourteen-year-old Bruce discovered Chill as the culprit. Harvey helped him to acquire a special gun from GCPD evidence lockup, the very one that had killed Thomas and Martha Wayne. Bruce had designed it as a perfect revenge, the culmination of a long mission that would bring justice and allow him to move forward. But standing there in the darkness of Chill’s apartment, aiming the gun at the monster who just wanted to die, Bruce realized the truth.

“I didn’t kill him, Harv.”

Harvey tried to hide his surprise, but it was plainly clear to see that whatever information he’d expected out of this reunion, it wasn’t that.

“Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “All these years and I thought– well, after all the years you were after that monster, I really thought you did it. Found solace. Moved out of town.”

“He wasn’t a monster,” said Bruce quietly, trying to keep their conversation discreet as people passed them by. “Chill was just a man. Standing there–with that gun–in his apartment, well, I felt just as alone and desperate as he must have in that alley. I was no better. So I left. I left it all behind.”

“They ruled it as a suicide,” said Harvey slowly, understanding.

Bruce nodded. “It was. I was so caught up in everything, I left the gun in there. I’m glad he didn’t decide to shoot me in the back.”

Harvey took a deep swig of his champagne before meeting Bruce’s eyes. “You know, I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to you after all this time. I was second-guessing myself the whole car ride over. But to know that I put you on that path when it wasn’t what you needed… I’m truly sorry, Bruce.”

“Harvey–”

“No. What happened between my dad and I… it was freeing, but… I only did it to save Mom. I don’t even remember pulling the trigger… just the blood. It was a good thing that he was gone, but it didn’t erase the pain. Not of what he did… not of what  _ I _ did. I should never have gotten you that gun if I knew it wasn’t helping you.”

“But you did help me, Harv,” said Bruce, smiling as he grasped his old friend’s shoulder. “I found purpose. You brought me out of that abyss. If not for you, I wouldn’t have found closure. I’d never have left and become what I am today. I wouldn’t be here now, fulfilling the promise I made to my parents.”

Harvey cocked his head. “I thought that path ended with Chill?”

Bruce shook his head. “This was different,” he said, lowering his voice. “Before I left. I swore an oath.”

“What was it?”

Bruce could remember it even now. The dirt around his parents’ grave still fresh as he kneeled there in the night, the wind howling around him as he swore a vow.  _ I swear by the spirits of my parents to avenge their deaths by spending the rest of my life warring on all criminals _ . No one could know the full truth–well, no one but Alfred–but Harvey still deserved to know why Bruce had come back after all this time.

He looked Harvey directly in the eye as he spoke. “That I would honor my parents’ memory by staving off injustice. By living up to their name and fighting for this city… fighting for my home.”

Harvey was silent for a moment, then nodded. “The kind of justice we talked about as kids.”

“Yes.” Bruce sipped at his fake drink. “Seems like you’re ahead of me on that front, though.”

“Well, I’ve certainly had my day in court.”

Bruce shook his head. “Twenty-eight and you’ve already made DA. That’s gotta be some kind of record.”

“I was twenty-six when I was elected,” corrected Harvey with a laugh. “And hey, I’m only the second youngest District Attorney for a major American city in history. Not sure how I pulled it off, honestly.”

“Well, I know it wasn’t that campaign slogan,” laughed Bruce.

Harvey made a face. “What’s wrong with ‘Let’s Put a DENT in Crime’?”

“I probably would’ve been back to Gotham sooner if the embarrassment of that pun hadn’t driven me away.”

“Wow. Mean,” said Harvey, laughing. He seemed relieved to be moving onto  _ lighter _ conversation. “Hey, I’m up for re-election next year. Sponsor me then and you can pick the name.”

Bruce chuckled. “I don’t know, Harv, for all I know you could be as bad at being a DA as I am at being a billionaire.”

“And I thought you always did your homework?” chided Harvey as he pulled a double-sided coin from his breast pocket. “How ‘bout we flip for it? I call heads.”

“Uh-uh-uh, I know how that goes,” said Bruce, fixing his gaze on the two-headed coin.

“Surprised I kept it?” asked Harvey.

That coin only existed because of Bruce’s suggestion. Harvey’s father used to flip a coin to decide whether or not the boy would take a beating. While at the hospital together, Bruce had convinced Harvey to take up a double-sided coin to escape punishment, since it’d always go in his favor. The trick had been pulled from an episode of  _ The Gray Ghost _ , he remembered.

Bruce was overwhelmed by the memories. “It’s– it’s been so long.”

“I keep it as a reminder,” said Harvey, rolling the coin of his abuser between his fingers. “Suffered for years before we crossed paths. I don’t know how much I really helped you, Bruce, but  _ you _ helped me take control of my destiny. I’ve got no plans to go back to that feeling of powerlessness.” He caught the coin, clutching it in his fist. “Now, I make my own luck.”

There was anger in Harvey, but his unwavering resolve had always been a force for good. Harvey was a hero, the kind Bruce hoped to live up to.

“You’re right, Harv,” said Bruce. “I always do my homework, and there is a reason the voters picked you right out of the gate. There’s a massive shortage of good people in this city, and you’re one of ‘em. Clearly, Gotham saw that.”

Harvey was silent for a moment. “Thank you, Bruce,” he said sincerely. “That means a lot.”

The two of them were silent for a time. Sighing, Harvey took a step back and spread his arms out at the bustling manor ballroom.

“The good-hearted billionaire and his trustee DA,” said Harvey, “out to save a corrupt city from corruption. Look at us. We’re a couple of natural crusaders. Though I don’t remember you being this wise when we were fourteen. You should sing my praises more often.”

“I was an incredibly wise fourteen-year-old.”

“Uh-huh,” scoffed Harvey, glancing at his watch. “Alright, enough talking to me. For the sake of your guests, I think you  _ gotta _ get on out there and talk to these people some more.”

Bruce sighed. “You’re not gonna save me?”

“Not this time,” laughed Harvey. “Hell, you should make a speech.”

“I  _ could _ make a speech, and choose not to,” corrected Bruce.

He knew it was necessary, but that made him no less eager to go through with it.

“Aw, do it, Bruce,” goaded Harv. “Be a good host and impress your guests with all that sage wisdom you acquired overseas.”

“Oh, you have to, Bruce,” whined a guest, picking up on their conversation. Others began to stop and look towards the pair.

“Come on,” nudged Harvey.

Another one of the guests laughed. “Yeah, Bruce, get on up there!”

After a final glare at Harvey, Bruce forced a smile and strode back into the crowd. “What do we think, everyone? Do we want a speech?”

As the guests caught on, people began to cheer. A chant began.

“Speech, speech, speech–”

Despite his reluctance, Bruce had known he’d need to do this. Gotham was waiting for a statement. The lost Wayne had come back after all this time, and they wanted to know why.

Harvey was leading the call now.

“Speech! Speech! Speech!”

The mask was on. Bruce laughed and flashed the teeth he’d just had whitened, making a mocking gesture to the crowd as he strode towards the center of the room, just as he’d practiced. People quieted as he stepped into the clearing, eager to hear what the long-lost billionaire had to say.

“Well, thank you all for coming,” began Bruce, raising his voice enough so that those in the back could hear. “I apologize for being a bit late, but as I’m sure you can entertain, inheriting a multibillion-dollar company at twenty-five leaves a lot of work to be done.”

They all laughed politely. Good.

“I know that you have questions,” he continued. “I left Gotham when I was fourteen, almost twelve years ago. My disappearance was the talk of the town, and despite a few public incidents in Europe, I realize that I seemingly disappeared off the face of the Earth.” Bruce lowered his eyes and adjusted his voice. He needed this to be as authentic as possible. “I had trouble dealing with my grief in the years following my parents’ deaths. They were great people, both to the city and me, and I think we all struggled without them. After years of tormenting myself, I realized that the only way for me to heal was to leave Gotham.”

Bruce knew there needed to be truth to his words. His reputation in the city would all draw from this moment. They needed to believe him.

“I needed time,” he said honestly. “I needed time to learn and grow so that I could better understand this city. So that I could understand how to  _ help _ this city, as my father and mother both did. There is beauty to be found in Gotham, for all its faults. But there are problems here. Problems that someone with my resources could help to try and solve. Poverty, corruption, pollution, and a staggeringly high crime rate that undercuts it all. Something needs to be done and I know that there are lots of people in this room who feel the same way.”

Many of them didn’t, of course, but from the expressions, Bruce could tell that they were hanging on every word.

He smiled again. “I’ve invited you all here tonight so that we can begin to get to know each other a little better. There’s lots to be done and many words to be had, and I’m sure this will only be the first night of many. Still, I know that together, we can save this city.”

At that, people began to clap, but he raised a hand to silence them. 

“All of you have more questions to ask of me, I know,” said Bruce, raising his glass of fake champagne. “The future is often uncertain, and I’ve been away for a long time while things have been going wrong. But let me assure you: when it comes to Gotham, I have a plan.”

* * *

The night went well, all things considered. He’d impressed the guests and caught up with a few other friends. Falcone arrived as Bruce made his speech, later requesting a private audience. The crime lord had been quite interested in the young billionaire’s pledge to fight for change in Gotham. He wanted to know if it would be for the Falcone family’s benefit. Bruce had assured him that he was no enemy, that he had no plans to truly change the system. He had been lying, of course. That said, Bruce Wayne couldn’t be an enemy to the Roman if the plan was to succeed. He had no plans to associate the Wayne name with Falcone publicly, but having an inkling of Carmine’s operations was key to dismantling them.

Of course, Bruce had to visit them. He’d only been once since coming back to Gotham, and tonight had been a success. They ought to know.

Alfred offered to drive, but Bruce wanted him to rest after all the work he’d put into the party. Taking one of the cars from the garage, Bruce quietly left the manor once all the other guests had departed. Most left in a timely manner, though Ms. Kelvin had to be forcefully extracted from the fountain. Wayne Manor was located fourteen miles outside of the city, so it was a long drive to get to the heart of Old Gotham. Every drive through the city reminded Bruce of why he was here. These late-night voyages, out of the spotlight, were especially illuminating. Muggings, extortion, drugs, prostitution, dirty cops– all lining the cluttered streets as Bruce passed them by. So many problems to eradicate and so many people to save; it was too much for one man to have any hope of accomplishing. But he’d sworn a vow.

There were barely any others in sight as Bruce walked through the rows and rows of gravestones, casualties of a dark city, many of whom had no loved ones left to remember them. As he started up the tallest hill in the cemetery, Bruce couldn’t help but reflect on how many others buried here had been shot dead in the darkest corners of Gotham. No one would ever mourn for them as loudly as they did for Thomas and Martha Wayne. That’s why Bruce had to do this. He wasn’t fighting to avenge two lives; he was fighting for  _ every _ life. Everyone at risk of meeting the fate his parents had. No other child would ever have to face what Bruce had: scared and alone in a dark alley, the abyss pressing in around them as they stared down the barrel of a gun, hands covered in their parents’ blood. Never again. Not while he stood guard.

When he reached the top of the hill, Bruce stopped in front of the tall stone markers. They were hidden under the shade of an old oak tree. His parents had requested that they be buried in the main Gotham Cemetery, among the people they’d dedicated their lives to helping, but they’d still been granted the largest gravestones in sight. Bruce knelt down in front of the markers as he’d done a thousand times before, placing two roses before the stones. He bowed his head, placing his hand on the ground where his parents’ bodies were kept.

“Father. Mother,” greeted Bruce softly. “The house, the business, the socialites; none of it feels right. I’m playing the part I need to, but… I don’t know if I’m living up to the family name. I still think of it as  _ your _ house,  _ your  _ business, and  _ your _ friends, even after all these years. I’ve just got my vow, and the training I’ve undergone was more focused on–well–hands-on learning. As ‘billionaire Bruce Wayne,’ I can’t help but feel like I’m wearing a mask.”

Bruce grasped the stems of the roses between his thumb and forefinger, fiddling with them as he talked.

“Falcone came tonight. He doesn’t trust me, but I don’t think he sees me as a threat either. The Roman has been running things since you died, when the last honest leaders of Gotham were obliterated, and with you, hope. Taking Falcone down is the key to toppling the corrupt order of the city. Eliminate the king and the whole operation falls out from under him. There will be complications, of course. I still have much work to do, but I’ll need allies to see this through. A man inside the GCPD to start. I’ve already got someone in mind–”

“I worry about Dad sometimes, though not as much as he worries about me.”

At the sound of disturbance, Bruce quickly stopped talking and whirled around. There hadn’t been anyone else on the hill when he arrived, but now there was a woman standing a ways down the slope. As Bruce tried to make out her features in the darkness of the night, the revelation hit him. It was her: Andrea. Was she talking to him? What had she meant? Straightening his jacket, Bruce started heading for Ms. Beaumont, curious to know why she’d ended up in the exact same cemetery right at this moment. She couldn’t have followed him, had she?

Andrea was laughing when Bruce approached. “Oh, that’s right! If Daddy gets anymore protective, he’s going to build a moat around my bedroo–” she stopped short at the sound of footsteps and turned around. “Yes?”

“Excuse me,” apologized Bruce. “I thought you were saying something. To me, I mean.”

Andrea looked at him curiously. “No.”

“Oh.” Bruce wasn’t sure what to do and started to back away. “Okay.”

He took about ten steps down the hill before he heard her start up again.

“Know who that was? Bruce Wayne! You know, the boy billionaire, finally come back from Europe? I met him earlier tonight, at his own gala. Very moody. Cute, though.”

Bruce stopped again, glancing back awkwardly at Andrea. She seemed to be talking to herself, but then why did she mention his name again? Did she want him to walk back over? Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, Bruce started back towards Andrea.

She looked up as she saw him approaching. “Yes?”

“It’s just– I heard my name,” explained Bruce, rubbing the back of his neck. “Who  _ are _ you talking to?”

“My mother,” she said blankly.

Bruce blinked, confused. Then he looked at where she was gesturing and found himself faced with a tombstone. It wasn’t nearly as elaborate as his parents’, but still much larger than the average marker, lying flat on the ground. On it was written the name ‘Victoria Beaumont.’

“Oh.” He had completely intruded. “I’m sorry.”

Oddly enough, she smiled. “That’s okay. Mom doesn’t have much to say today.”

Andrea glanced up at Bruce’s curious look as she picked up her purse.

“I’m not the only one who talks to their loved ones, you know.”

Bruce held up his hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

She smirked as the two of them started walking down the hill, falling side-by-side with one another.

“It’s just… when I talk to her, I can imagine what she would have said, y’know?”

“I get it,” said Bruce. “When did she…”

“I was eight,” replied Andrea, shrugging as they walked along.

He nodded. “The same for me.”

They walked in silence for a few moments before Andrea spoke again. “Guess I understand why you were so unhappy at the party. You’re just as troubled as I am, aren’t you?”

Not sure how to respond to that, Bruce gave her a small smile.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” she said thoughtfully. “We’ve spent way more time living without them than with them, yet they don’t feel less important. I guess it’s the impact they leave on you.”

“Yes,” agreed Bruce. “You move forward, but… you don’t move on.”

As they neared the bottom, Andrea nodded back to the top of the hill.

“You ever talk with the folks?”

“Yes,” said Bruce honestly.

“I’m sure they have a lot to say.”

He shook his head. “No, they don’t talk, but I do.”

“What do you talk about?” asked Andrea curiously.

“I made a vow,” Bruce admitted.

“What kind of vow?”

He smirked. “A secret one.”

She laughed as they crossed under the iron gate of the cemetery and out onto the sidewalk. “And have you kept your vow?”

“So far,” muttered Bruce.

“Wouldn’t have anything to do with your plan to save Gotham, would it?”

Bruce nodded. “Something like that.” She was good. “My parents were always trying to help this city. I don’t know if I could ever live up to them, but… in building a safer Gotham, maybe we can create a city where no child has to lose their parents that way.”

“I can’t claim to have any idea what it’s like trying to live up to the Wayne legacy,” admitted Andrea, “but if you’re really in this to build a better Gotham, I think that’s an idea everyone can get behind. I know I can. Good to know there’s some heart under that broody exterior.”

Andrea came to a stop by the closest car and unlocked the door before glancing back at Bruce. She smiled and stared straight into his eyes. They stood like that for a few moments, her seemingly sizing him up.

“Y’know, Bruce,” she said, “I’ll give you this: you might just be a little more interesting than the depressed party boy I pegged you as.” Pulling open her purse, Andrea reached in and pulled out a small piece of paper, then handed it to him. It was a phone number. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of people to call after tonight, but… if you ever get tired of wanting to jump off a cliff, well… let me know.”

With that, she climbed into the car and pulled the door closed after her. With one last inquisitive look from her pale blue eyes, Andrea Beaumont turned on the engine and pulled away. 

After a few moments, Bruce started walking down the sidewalk. He’d parked further down, way past the gate. As he strolled through the cool night air, Bruce couldn’t help but smile in spite of himself. Tonight hadn’t entirely gone as planned, but perhaps Bruce had gleaned something valuable from this visit after all. Andrea had certainly turned out more… interesting, herself. More than he might’ve given her credit for.

Bruce stopped and looked down at the piece of paper clutched in his hand. It wasn’t in the plan, but… maybe he could make time, just this once.

* * *

> **Gotham Heights, Gotham City, NJ  
>  Saturday, June 18th, 2022, 09:15 EST**

Bruce turned his thoughts away from old memories as the hospital room door opened and Selina walked back in, clutching a cup of coffee.

“You sure you don’t want one of these? You need to sleep, Bat.”

“I can sleep when all this madness has passed,” said Bruce irritably. “I once stayed awake for seven days while fighting Apokolyptian forces on New Genesis. This is nothing.”

“Bet you looked like shit then, too,” said Selina in her usual charming fashion, sitting back down next to him.

Damian was lying in the bed in front of them, still unconscious after all the surgery. Bruce hadn’t wanted to leave his son’s side till he was stabilized, but that hadn’t meant he’d stocked working. The chair on his right side was filled with case files and other documents he’d had Dick bring over. From everything around them, it was clear that Bruce had spent the night here, no evidence more damning than the man sitting in the third chair.

Joker cringed as he looked over Damian’s battered body.  _ “I have to say, Bats, your streak isn’t looking too good here. What with me killing Robin #2, Robin #3 being kidnapped, and now this stab-y business with Robin #5. You really ought to start keeping these kiddies on a tighter leash.” _

Trying to suppress his ghost, Bruce took his fianc é’s hand and pushed the chilling voice of his rotting enemy away. There was a small television in the corner of their room, tuned to the news. The volume was low, but it still filled the quiet room.

_ “Many have called into question President Luthor’s absence from the rally last night, with some suggesting this supports rumors that the President has been somewhat under the weather as of–” _

“Enough of that,” scoffed Selina as she clicked the remote, shutting the tv off. “I’ve heard enough about Luthor for a lifetime. And that was  _ before _ he became President.” She sipped at her coffee and stared at Bruce, clearly concerned. “Are you doing alright? I mean, as ‘alright’ as you can be, given the circumstances?”

Bruce grunted. “I’ve got a lot on my mind. Damian–”

“It’s not just that.” Selina looked worried. “You’ve been…  _ reflective _ all night. I’m talking a lot of brooding. Like, more than usual.” She looked out their window at the Gotham skyline, the sun now fully risen over the city. “Were you thinking about them?”

“Her,” clarified Bruce.

“Andrea?”

He nodded. 

Selina’s eyes were an emerald green. Different from Andrea’s, but no less piercing. The former cat burglar knew how to stare right into your soul like she was stealing your secrets before even taking anything else.

“She’s the outlier here, right?” asked Selina, her gaze fierce. “Most of these bastards come from your past–well, our past, but… she was never a villain.”

“Not to me,” confirmed Bruce sullenly. “Everything she did was done out of revenge for her father’s murder. In that last fight–her, me, and the Joker–Andi was even trying to save me. Of course, I saved the clown in the end, and couldn’t save her.”

Joker was trying to stifle his laughter off in the corner.  _ “Can’t say that one went in your favor, Batsy.” _

“But she survived,” said Selina slowly. She’d heard it all from him before.

Bruce bowed his head. “I found her locket in the cave… after everything went down. Nothing ever came of it. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if it was wishful thinking on my part, hoping that she’d found peace somewhere.”

Selina sighed. “And now she’s back. Still as the Phantasm, only now she’s after you.”

“Vengeance had transformed her,” said Bruce bitterly, shaking his head. “She went down a dark path. One I couldn’t walk her back from. To see that it’s only increased… that she’s working with my other enemies… that she’d condone  _ this _ ,” Bruce motioned to Damian’s hospital bed, “well, it’s clear to see I failed her.”

“Not everyone can be saved,” Selina said sadly.

“I’ll still try.”

She smiled. “I know. It’s one of the many things I love about you. Still… her having been so close to you… it makes the threat of this team even greater.”

“She knows me,” said Bruce softly. “Almost as well as you do.”

Selina looked a little uncomfortable. “She was the one–”

“Andrea almost ended my mission before it began,” confirmed Bruce, knowing where she was headed. “I met her when I came back to the city. We began dating almost immediately. She challenged me. She challenged everything I thought I knew and made me better for it.” Bruce cleared his throat. “The night I… proposed… she and her father had to flee the country. Terrence Beaumont had done dealings with the wrong people. I got her letter the next day. She made up excuses about being too young and wanting to see the world. Fiction, but it was all I had to go off of. That night, I went out to the East End to–uh–strike fear into the hearts of criminals. It didn’t work. I was still missing the key ingredient.” He glanced at her. “That was the night I met you.”

Selina smiled, remembering. “We met on the street. I kicked your ass.”

“Plenty of people did. By the time I got home, I was bleeding out. Couldn’t get past the foyer. Alfred had given me a bell, to call him if I was injured, but I… I didn’t want to wake him. I didn’t want help.” Bruce frowned, recalling the night it had all truly started. “I felt lost, and I was dying, so I talked to the dead. I asked my father what I should do and then a bat crashed through the window. Guess you could say I took it as a sign.”

“There wouldn’t be a Batman without Andrea Beaumont,” said Selina quietly.

Bruce thought of her threat in the message. “And now she seems intent on contesting that view. Her, Bane, Slade, Owlman, the others… they want to topple it all.”

“To think that they’re organizing like this now, after all this time, and the timing… it blindsided us all.”

“Yes,” agreed Bruce sullenly. He had worked for decades to be prepared for criminal conspiracies and returning foes, but the approaching wedding let all of their guards down.

_ “Psst, Bruce.”  _ Joker was pointing at Damian, his other finger pressed over his singed lips.  _ “I think the kid’s a faker.” _

Bruce looked over at his son. He still appeared to be sleeping soundly, but his position had changed slightly.

“I know you’re awake.” 

Damian’s eyes fluttered open. It was amazing how he still managed to look annoyed while being hooked up to thousands of dollars worth of hospital equipment.

“It’s like your a detective or something.”

Bruce gave a small smile. “We thought we might lose you. You got banged up pretty bad.”

“Tt,” Damian scoffed. “You should know better than to think that the son of Batman would die in a hospital bed.”

“Wish we were as confident as you on that front,” said Selina. “We’ve been here all night.”

Damian hid it well, but Bruce could see a glimmer of surprise on his face that Selina had stayed with him.

“Well, are you going to ask me about my mission report?” asked Damian.

Bruce laughed. “I think that can wait a few minutes.”

Damian glared at him. “This is important, Father.”

“Fine. What was–”

“I noticed something off about Deathstroke when Canary, Huntress, and I dropped him off. He seemed far too happy to be getting a permanent stay in the most secure supermax facility on the face of the Earth. I followed discreetly and watched Deathstroke use a small EMP device–hidden in his eyepatch–to lock down the Black Wing and deactivate the guards’ comms. He dispatched the guards, then assisted in letting the Owlman, David Cain, and their men into the facility. The pulse had disabled the elevator, but I was able to pursue the targets when Owlman deactivated security. They wanted Grandfather to reveal the location of the final Lazarus Pit: a safe haven he hadn’t destroyed, here in Gotham. Ra’s refused, but he accidentally revealed that Mother knew of its location. They killed Grandfather and took his body, promising to heal him if Mother led them to the pit.”

Selina glanced at Bruce. “If Talia knows, she could already–”

“I pursued them through the Arkham Batcave and out onto the surface of the island,” continued Damian, not one for interruptions. “They all funneled onto a boat, but Cain stayed behind to fight me. He caught me off-balance, and shamefully, mortally wounded me. But then… and everything gets foggy after the stabbing… someone saved me. Someone wearing a suit, like ours. He  _ flew _ me off the island before that hidden bomb went off.”

Bruce frowned. “Did we know them?”

“No,” said Damian, eyes closed in concentration as he tried to remember. He slowly opened them. “But they were wearing your symbol. He… he knew my name.”

Their secret identities seemed anything but secret these days. First the seven they were fighting, and now this mystery man.

“You mentioned a suit?” asked Bruce, trying to assess if this man was from his past, too.

“Yes,” said Damian slowly. “It was very… advanced. Not quite like anything I’ve seen Fox working on before, but a similar idea.”

“A copycat.”

Damian nodded. “He saved my life. For what reason, I don’t know.”

“Maybe he’s a friend,” suggested Bruce curiously.

“From my experience, there aren’t a lot of unknown friends in this business, Father.”

_ “But there are ALWAYS enemies, lurking in the shadows _ ,” shouted Joker suddenly, startling Bruce.  _ “Ha!” _

It wasn’t real. Bruce couldn’t let it be real. Not while so much was at stake.

“Something wrong?” asked Selina. She’d seen him flinch. So had Damian.

“No,” lied Bruce, standing. “I just need to stretch my legs for a bit. Clear my head and make some calls.”

Damian nodded. “I suppose I’ll be getting a move on, too.”

Throwing off his covers, Damian tried to stand, before the reality of extensive surgery hit him and he fell back in pain.

“Tt. Five minutes.”

Selina sighed. “I’ll keep watch. You go freshen up.”

Exiting the hospital room, Bruce fell into a quick walk that was perhaps a bit too conspicuous. Regardless, it didn’t help him outrun his ghost.

_ “Ooh, good to get out of that room,”  _ said Joker, matching Bruce’s speed.  _ “It smelled like dead kids in there. Maybe we should stop at the vending machine on the way. Say, where are we going, Brucie?” _

Trying to ignore the whining voice of the dead man, Bruce banged open a restroom door and headed for the sink, turning it on and splashing water in his face.

_ “Heeeeeey, you wouldn’t be trying to get rid of me, would ya, Bats? You should know by now that we’re inseparable, in life or death.” _

Bruce shook his head. There had to be something causing this. He wasn’t going crazy. Not now, not when so much was at stake. 

Joker started to laugh.  _ “You know, I was with you when you were thinking back to those early memories with Andrea. Such a sweet girl. Ended in tragedy, though, didn’t it? Like all your relationships!” _

No one was laughing. It wasn’t real. Bruce couldn’t deal with this. Not now.

_ “Oop. You know what? I was gonna make a joke about your parents there, but I thought it know that would have been insensit– HAHA!” _ Joker doubled over. _ “I’m sorry! It’s just so funny because, y’know, they’re dead!” _

The Joker was laughing almost uncontrollably now.

_ “And–heh–do you know what the best part is?”  _ asked the madman as he tried to stifle his cries. _ “You saved me that night, but left poor Andrea to that terrible fire.” _

“She didn’t want–” began Bruce, but his phantom cut him off.

_ “I slipped away. You didn’t even catch me, ha! But then… the next time I showed up? It was on the commissioner’s doorstep. And his sweet daughter Barbara answered the door.” _

The cackling was growing louder. Bruce gripped the sink and stared hard at his reflection, trying to stave off the apparition, but images of the ghostly Joker only filled the rest of the mirrors. The clown was all around him.

_ “If you’d let ‘Andi’ do the sane thing and end my life, well, maybe Babs wouldn’t be a cripple… and–heh–your son wouldn’t have died!” _

Bruce whirled around, thrusting his fist towards Joker. It was the kind of blow that he generally avoided, the kind that could cause serious damage if it landed right. But, of course, there was no Joker, and Bruce’s fist simply collided painfully with the restroom wall.

“No…”

It was as if Bruce could feel the Joker’s own jaw breaking into a smile, stretching against the bounds of his own torn, burnt lips. The gashes in the dead man’s face started to bleed, the hideous grin contorting the entire face.

_ “You’re losing your grip, Bats.” _

Joker was right. For months, Bruce had avoided even acknowledging the ghost, but now he was forgetting that it wasn’t even there? The madness was shattered by the buzzing of his phone. He clicked the device on. It was Maggie. Wiping his bruised hand on the towel, Bruce hurried to answer it.

“Yes?” he asked groggily, his voice hoarse.

There was a pause on the other end of the line.  _ “You okay?” _

“What is it, Captain?” asked Bruce, trying not to let his exhaustion show through.

_ “Right, well, we’re still busy with the Arkham cleanup, and I don’t have much time. That’s why I’m calling you directly. Let’s just say that, should anyone be interested in knowing more about the Black Wing break-in, it turns out there was something hidden beneath the rubble.” _

Bruce straightened himself abruptly, causing Joker to giggle. “What?”

They’d needed to clear the Penitentiary wreckage before they could really dig into the Black Wing, so they hadn’t known how much evidence was really there.

_ “A clue. In Talia’s cell. We’re not sure what it is, but… well, you might want to pass this along.” _

“Thank you, Maggie,” said Bruce, quickly ending the call.

There were always more layers to uncover. Bruce thought he had a pretty good idea of what the villains were doing now, but he needed to get back on the scene. He needed to focus and head back to Arkham; it was time to mobilize. Dialing Barbara, Bruce stepped out of the bathroom and started heading for the nearest exit, away from Damian, Selina, and Joker.

“Secure line,” he ordered as soon as Barbara answered.

After a few moments, the call was cleared of any prying ears.  _ “Batman,” _ she said.  _ “How’s Robin?” _

“I know how to find Andrea,” said Bruce quickly, pushing open the stairwell door and heading for the ground floor.

_ “How’s that?” _

“We missed something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this chapter, consider leaving a comment so I can continue to improve on this story as we move forward.


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